“Pretty good too,” Ruby said. “You look through that door, you can see one of his hanging over the fireplace.”
Jason’s heart sank. He did not want to discuss Ethan. He did not want to see Ethan’s art. He did not want Ethan to be any more real than he already was. But Ruby was obviously waiting for him to admire Ethan’s work—or maybe just acknowledge Ethan’s part in Sam’s past—so he obligingly turned his gaze to the door leading into the living room, and then rose, limping into the living room and over to the fireplace, studying a large oil painting of pine trees, rocky outcrops, and moonlight.
Ruby had followed him into the other room.
“Where is this?” he asked, because he had to say something. “Somewhere around here?”
“Vedauwoo. It’s a campground off Interstate 80.”
Jason hmmed. He really didn’t have much to say, and after a moment of silence, Ruby added, “’Course, I’m not an expert.”
“No, but you’re right. He was talented.”
That was the truth. There was genuine talent there. Raw talent. Not genius. This kid had not been a prodigy like Lucius Lux, Jason’s wayward protégé. He’d had some training, clearly, but he wasn’t a craftsman at the peak of his skill. No telling what he would have ultimately become with time and experience.
Jason peered at the signature in the lower right-hand corner. EO.
“What was Ethan’s last name?”
“Ogilvie. His father still lives in Cheyenne. He’s the only one left.”
One of these days he was going to bite the bullet and do some looking into what had actually happened to Ethan. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not anytime soon.
However, having gone this far, he might as well go ahead and ask. “Was Ethan’s killer ever brought to justice?”
“No. Never.”
He nodded, again at a loss for the right thing to say. I’m sorry? He was certainly sorry about all of it. Disturbing to think that without Ethan’s death—murder—he and Sam would never have met. Sam had only gone into the FBI because Ethan had been murdered.
He couldn’t quite get a handle on Ruby or on Ruby and Sam’s relationship. Why had Ruby brought up Ethan to him? She had to know Sam would not appreciate his personal life being discussed behind his back. Was there some message she was trying to convey? Was she simply prone to gossip? She didn’t appear to have any neighbors as far as Jason could tell. Maybe she was hungry for conversation—and it wouldn’t be surprising if Sam was her favorite subject.
He knew Sam did not travel back to Wyoming very often. That must be hard on Ruby.
He said briskly, “Well, thank you for the rolls and the coffee. I should probably get back and make some phone calls.”
She nodded, accompanying him to the back door. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you, I will.”
He went carefully down the steps and started across the barren, windblown yard. Before he was more than a few feet away from the house, he could hear the dogs throwing themselves at the porch door.
Chapter Seven
Special Agent Shane Donovan was Jason’s Northern California counterpart and the only other Art Crime Team member on the West Coast. Though they didn’t regularly work together, they were in the habit of brainstorming their cases and bouncing ideas off each other. Jason’s assigned partner, J.J. Russell, was a first-office agent, just starting his third year on the job. Russell and he were not what one would call simpatico. Russell felt his abilities were being wasted paired with someone who spent so much of his time online checking art databases and national registers, meeting with museum curators, and haunting auction houses and art galleries. If there was a bright side to being placed on sick leave, it was not having to listen to Russell bitch about the pointlessness of Jason’s mission for the next two weeks.
It took a couple of tries to reach Shane that morning. When Jason finally managed to get through, Shane was friendly but not encouraging.
“Hey, what’s this about? You’re supposed to be on sick leave, West.”
“I know. I am. But I’m kind of worried about Ursula Martin.” The one case where Jason and Shane did coordinate their efforts was Fletcher-Durrand. Partly because the Durrands had a home in NorCal, though they spent little time there. Partly because the potential scope of the case was so vast.
“What about her?” Shane asked.
“I’m afraid F-D might try to intimidate her.” If by some crazy chance the Durrands were behind the assault on him, Jason feared anything was possible—including going after a witness and potential claimant.
“I don’t know why they’d bother,” Shane said ruefully. “She’s not talking.”
“All the same,” Jason said. “I’d feel better if you touched base with her.” Martin lived in Bodega Bay, which made it more than reasonable to hand this off to Shane rather than J.J.