Chapter 7
Chris sat for a long five minutes in Elizabeth Page's desk chair and stared at nothing. Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher weren't making news in 1914. Something's not right. But if the work had been restored, she knew it was the current practice to leave obvious evidence of restoration so future restorers and conservators would know which parts of a work were original and which had been added. She had to look again.
She went back to the storeroom and unlocked the door. The painting lay as she had left it. Gloved again, she turned the painting face downward on the padded surface while she inspected the back. The canvas seemed to be in good shape. Too good? The stretcher frame was lighter in color than she was used to seeing on old paintings. Either the wood hadn't darkened because of extraordinary care or it had been a much lighter wood to start with. Or it isn't as old as it should be.
Close inspection revealed nothing else particularly troubling, yet everything was now open to speculation, and she looked closely at the Kahnweiller label. The print was clear, but the handwritten elements were faded nearly to illegibility. Chris searched for a magnifying glass, found one in Elizabeth's desk and used it to survey every inch of the label. She gave up in disgust. She was outside her area of expertise. She needed someone who had the right credentials.
She turned the painting face up again. Using a scrap of brown wrapping paper, she transcribed all the readable newspaper text.
She was finishing when Rachael Jacobsen's sudden appearance at the storeroom door caused her to start like a frightened horse.
"Sorry, Chris! I didn't mean to startle you. Building Services finished putting in the hangers, so we're ready. Shall we take this up by way of the stairs or use the freight elevator?"
Chris collected her scattered thoughts and stuffed the transcript into her pants pocket. "Elevator. Let's use a cart to move it. It isn't heavy but I don't want to drop it." She sounded calm and in control of herself. In her mind, an argument played out. What if it's a fake? Are we really going to hang this when there's a question? Yes. We don't know anything for sure. Find the condition report that came with the painting and any restorations will be listed there. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill.
She and Rachael lifted the painting onto the rolling cart and walked it carefully through the circuitous hallway to the freight elevator.
"We need a cover sheet," Rachael said suddenly, hauling Chris out of her distracted musings. Rachael raced back down the hallway. When she returned they draped the painting with a dust cover large enough to conceal it until the dramatic unveiling and continued into the elevator and up to the main level.
Chris asked, "What was Elizabeth going to do about the drape? Did she have someone making one with a long rope so it could be pulled off during the Gala?"
"I don't know. She didn't say anything, but I suppose she did. I'll ask around. If not, I'll find a cord and pin it to this sheet." They rolled the painting off the elevator and into the largest of the four main-floor galleries where the scissor lift stood waiting.
They rolled the cart next to lift and carefully lifted the painting onto the platform. Chris closed the safety bar and Rachael pushed the button. The lift rose sedately.
"I don't much like heights," Rachael said when they'd reached the intended spot twelve feet off the floor.
"Neither do I."
Building Services had installed two fasteners to the wall at the level Chris and Rachael had agreed was appropriate. She hoped they wouldn't be required to make adjustments. She wanted this to be over as soon as possible so she could dive into Elizabeth's files to find the condition report. She decided that unless the painting was obviously too high or too low, she would live with it.
Rachael brought the remote motion sensor out of a pocket.
"Did you turn off the security system?" Chris asked.
"Yes. Once it's hung and the sensor is in place I'll turn it on and we'll test it. I warned them to expect at least one false alarm."
"Grab that side, Rachel, and we'll lift it into place," Chris said. They used their gloved hands to lift and gently set the painting's hanging wire on the two fasteners. Chris stood back to survey the picture.
"They told me to set this in back on the bottom stretcher. If it's jostled in any way, it'll set off the alarms." Rachael checked to see that the sensor was turned on, then positioned it while Chris held the bottom edge of the painting away from the wall.
Rachael, obviously less distracted than Chris, produced a small level from another pocket and set it on the top of the frame. After a small adjustment it was perfect. They fixed the drape in place and descended to the floor.
Rachael left to turn on the alarm system while Chris took the first deep breath she'd had in many minutes. She looked up at the shrouded painting. I'm being melodramatic. I'll find the condition report and see that the painting was restored in the lower third, left of center sometime in the 1980s. All will be well.
Her cell phone vibrated busily in her pants pocket, jolting her. It was her son.
"Gram and I are going to Alfred's. She says she needs to buy some clothes for the cold. She says for you to meet us at Spike's later and we'll have pizza."
"Careful with your grandmother. Don't let her talk you into doing the tango or something."
"Nah, I'll keep her on a short leash."
Pansy protested in the background.
"I'll meet you at Spike's at six." Chris rang off.
Rachael reappeared in the gallery doorway. "Try moving the painting and I'll watch the screen." She returned to the docent's desk while Chris pushed the "up" button once again and slowly rose to the painting.
"Ready?" Chris called.
"Go for it."
She pulled the painting slightly away from the wall.
"It's working," Rachael called.
Chris descended toward the floor but before she got there she heard Rachael utter a startled, "Oh, jeez!" She stepped back into the gallery. "Someone just slammed a door downstairs and that set it off too. We've got to adjust the sensitivity."
"How do I do that?" Chris asked as she reached the floor.
"Little setting right beside the on/off switch. I had it set on high. You'll need a Phillips." She disappeared.
In the end Chris didn't have time to peruse Elizabeth's files. The motion sensor required several adjustments and a phone call to the company. They also had to attach a cord to the concealing cloth. Chris had been up and down on the scissor lift enough times that the height had ceased to bother her. When everything was working well, she had barely enough time to get to the pizza place without being late. Tomorrow she would check the files.
Saturday dawned bright and clear but the weather forecast was for descending temperatures and possible snow by late afternoon. The assembled glitterati will be getting slush on their shoes when they come for the Gala Unveiling this evening, Chris thought as she munched toast and looked out the window.
Pansy thumped into the kitchen with her walker and sighed in annoyance. "I really hate to bother you, Teensy, but would you bring my coffee cup out to the living room? I can't figure out how to maneuver with this thing and carry hot liquids."
Chris filled the mug and trailed after Pansy to the living room. She set the cup on an end table. "Will you be okay if I go into school this morning? I need to check on something."
"I'll be fine. Drew said he was coming over for lunch. I told him I'd make hangabers." When he was little, Drew couldn't say "hamburger," so they'd been "hangabers" ever since. "Are you checking on whatever's been bothering you since last night? Is that what you're going in for?"
Surprised, Chris hesitated and then sat down. "I unpacked the Picasso yesterday and hung it for the Gala. Before I did, I looked at it closely. I saw something that made me think it might have been restored quite a bit in the 1980s."
"Would that be bad? It being restored?"
"Wouldn't be great news. It would still be a Picasso, of course. It's just that it m
ight not be worth as much as everyone's been saying."
"I detect a 'but' in there somewhere," Pansy said after a pause.
Chris looked at her mother. How doe she do that? She'd never figured it out, not when she was sixteen and breaking curfew and not now. "I guess I'm afraid it wasn't restored."
Pansy waited.
"That would mean it's a fake."
Pansy's expression changed slowly. "Lord!"
Sharing the thought with someone else was a relief. Chris rushed on. "If it is, think of it! When was it replaced for the original? What happened to the original? What will Randall say when he finds out? Will he blame us for losing it? Was it replaced the night Elizabeth Page died? Did she catch someone in the act? Who would be stupid enough to try to steal it while she was still in the building?" Chris had dumped every unknown at once. She sat back and shook her head.
"How can you find out?" Pansy asked at last.
"If it was restored, it'll be listed on the condition report that came with the painting... at least, I think there's a condition report. Elizabeth never said anything about it. If I go through her Picasso files I should find it."
"Then you'd better hop to it. If it's a fake the university won't want to go through with the Gala." Pansy sounded positive, then reassuring. "But I'm sure you're going to find that condition thing."
On her drive to school Chris realized she didn't share her mother's confidence that she would find the condition report. And there was no chance the administration would cancel the Gala even if there were clouds hanging over the event. Too many folks had been invited and probably were already in town for the occasion. First things first, though. She'd have to search the files.
When she got to the museum she used her master key to go in through the employees' entrance and skipped down the stairs. Faint sounds of activity filtered down from upstairs. Building Services is probably setting up the speakers' platform.
She walked the length of the hall to Elizabeth's old office. Rachael Jacobsen had moved into it for convenience and was already transforming the place. One whole bookcase held nothing but books arranged by subject and periodicals neatly placed in order by date. There were still piles on the floor and spilling out of other bookcases, but Rachael hadn't been idle since the staff was allowed back into the crime scene.
She sat at the desk and swiveled to the file cabinet behind it. Most current projects should be close at hand, but with Elizabeth she couldn't be sure. She opened drawers and read labels, looking for anything related to the Picasso. Nothing. She did it a second time. Still nothing. She considered. Turning to the desk, she opened that file drawer. Rachael had been at work here too. Files had what looked like brand new labels and were in alphabetical order. Picasso was not to be found, but Randall, Howard J. was in its proper place.
Inside the folder were copies of all the letters to and from Randall regarding the gift. No condition report. In Chris's filing system such items would be in a file marked Picasso or maybe Still Life with Pipe and Wine Bottle. In Elizabeth's system, anything was possible. Add Rachael Jacobsen fixing things and she despaired of ever finding the condition report.
Condition report. She swiveled back to the file cabinet and started looking for a file with that label. She was rewarded almost immediately with a fat folder full of an admixture of papers, some with the Midstate Museum of Art logo, some with those of lending institutions. The bulk of them referred to the Mannerist show hanging upstairs. None of them referred to the Picasso.
An hour of careful checking led nowhere. Chris sat at the desk speculating. It was impossible for her to believe that a major work of art from a serious collector wouldn't come with a condition report. Would Elizabeth have taken it home? She'd found no files of any kind referring to the Picasso other than the file of letters. That in itself was a mystery. Surely there would be documentation of the insured value, a copy of an appraisal, something like that.
She hunted for a phone book and found Rachael Jacobsen's number.
"Rachael, have you seen any files in Elizabeth's office that refer to the Picasso? A condition report, an appraisal or anything like that?"
"I was going to ask you about that, Chris. I was trying to get my ducks in a row about the painting before the Gala and I only found some letters back and forth to Howard Randall. Isn't that odd? I mean we have enough paperwork on the Mannerist show to fill a drawer and nothing on the Picasso. It doesn't make sense."
Chris agreed. "Well, if you think of where it might be, give me a call, please. I'm sitting in your office hunting for it." She was about to hang up.
Rachael said, "You know, maybe that was on the desk when she was killed. All those papers and files disappeared that night, remember?"
Chris hadn't remembered. "Jeez, you're right. How could I forget that?"
After she'd hung up, she sat thinking. This was getting to be a bit too much for one person's psyche to handle. She decided to call Dean Lorraine Campbell-McFee. Might as well give the administration a heads-up, just in case.
Lorraine gasped when Chris told her of her suspicions. "Surely you can't believe it's a fake!" she stammered.
"Well, the most likely thing is that it was restored," Chris said. "It's just that I haven't found the condition sheet yet and I thought someone should know."
After a long pause, Lorraine said, "We'll not share this with anyone else, okay? I mean, let's get through this evening and then we can decide what to do at our leisure."
"Do you think someone should ask Mr. Randall about whether he had the piece restored?" She knew before she heard the answer what it would be.
"No! Absolutely not!" Lorraine took an audible breath. "We aren't going to do anything to cast a pall on this party."
Chris sighed when she hung up the phone. There was nothing to do but go home and help Pansy get ready for the party. By the time she'd pulled into her driveway, she had decided she would ask Randall whether he had sent a condition report along with the painting. She hadn't been expressly forbidden to do that.