The Case of the Missing Botticelli, page 15
“I’m Gina, by the way,” said the woman, extending her hand.
Hadley shook it warmly. “I’m Hadley Evans. I work right around the corner at the Massimo Domingo Art Detective Agency. Do you have any take-out menus or business cards I can pass out? I’ll put the word out about your new place and help you drum up some business. The food smells great.”
“It tastes great, too. Antonio is a wizard in the kitchen,” said Gina. “He makes the best red sauce in Italy. Come, sit down. I’ll bring you a bowl of pasta.”
Hadley took the offered seat, and within minutes she was savoring the best spaghetti sauce she’d ever tasted. Better than Luca’s mother’s recipe.
“Oh, my God, this is amazing,” Hadley said. “I wish I could cook pasta sauce this good. My wedding is in a few weeks. Do you think you could cater the wedding luncheon? We’ve already made arrangements for the dinner.”
“We’d love to. Let me get the date on my calendar.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Hadley, I suddenly had a great idea. What if I got Antonio to give you cooking lessons? If we work hard together, by the time of the wedding, you can impress your mother-in-law with your culinary talents.”
“Gina, that’s wonderful. I’d be so grateful.”
“The first lesson will be to learn to boil water. Then Antonio will teach you all his secrets.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rule Number Five: Use A Free Hand When Approaching A Problem. Sometimes it’s necessary to bend the rules and seek a fresco (ha-ha) approach.
~Massimo Domingo’s Pocket Guide to Stolen Art Recovery—Volume 2
Every morning, before work, Hadley dropped by Antonio’s to help prepare the food for the day. She returned during lunch to help with the noontime rush and again in the evening to learn and lend a hand in the kitchen. In short order, she learned to make various kinds of pasta from scratch and a variety of sauces. By the time she got home, she dropped into bed, exhausted. Luca was getting suspicious about her absences and her excuses for canceling their plans.
“Why can’t you go out with me anymore?” She could sense Luca’s frustration over the telephone. “Every night it’s a different excuse. You have to prepare for the wedding. You have to work late. You have an errand to run. When I offer to help, you turn me down. Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. We’re very busy at work.”
“At ten o’clock at night? I’ve been by the office, and it’s closed. Where do you go every night? Have you changed your mind about the wedding?”
“No, of course not,” Hadley assured him. “It’s a surprise, so I can’t tell you, but it will make you and your mother very happy.”
“What does my mother have to do with it?”
“You’ll find out soon.”
“I miss you. Bocelli misses you, too.”
“I miss you both too. But we’ll have plenty of time together after the wedding. I’ve got to go. Love you.”
In her free time, she practiced making the dishes at home. Her parents were flying in tomorrow, so she would have to spend time with them, and there was a lot to do before the wedding. At least the food was taken care of. She and Gina had planned a great wedding luncheon menu.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rule Number Six: No Matter What The Medium Of A Missing Masterpiece, The Same Rules Of Engagement Apply In Tracking It Down.
~Massimo Domingo’s Pocket Guide to Stolen Art Recovery—Volume 2
Hadley was dead on her feet. She’d already put in an early morning at Antonio’s, learning his culinary secrets and helping out in the restaurant however she could, to thank them for their generosity. And she had done an evening shift the night before. When she walked into the office, Gerda sprang out of her seat and confronted her.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you. Massimo is furious.”
“At me?”
“No, not at you. But we’ve been trying to find you. What’s that smell? You smell like spaghetti sauce.”
Hadley thought she’d showered and washed off the smell of red sauce. “What is he so hyped up about?”
“The Vermeer. It’s gone. Someone broke into the warehouse last night and stole it.”
“What?” Hadley exclaimed. This was the worst possible news.
“But the warehouse is guarded.”
“Whoever stole it overpowered them, and when they came to, the Vermeer was gone.”
“What about the other paintings?”
“Apparently the thief was only interested in the Vermeer.”
“But we promised it to the Uffizi for the exhibition. It’s due to be transferred there at the end of the week. The exhibition starts Monday. People have already bought tickets. How could this have happened?”
“That’s what Massimo wants to know. Uh-oh. Here he comes now.” Gerda hurried back to her desk to avoid the fallout.
“Hadley, have you heard the news? The Vermeer has vanished!”
“Gerda filled me in. Have you called in the Carabinieri Art Squad?”
“Yes. They’ve been through our warehouse looking for leads. But who knows how long the painting will take to find! Every day the painting is missing decreases the odds that we will ever find it. The thief probably already has a buyer lined up—a museum, a major auction house, another well-known dealer, or a private collector. The painting could be on its way out of the country by now. Once it’s smuggled out, we may never recover it. And even if we trace it, the buyer will likely refuse to return it. What will we tell the Uffizi? I’m sure the newspapers will have a field day! I can see the headlines now. Massimo Domingo lets another Vermeer slip through his fingers. The exhibition is next week.”
“You didn’t lose it. And you had nothing to do with the theft of the Vermeer in Boston.”
“But I couldn’t find it. My name will be forever associated with missing Vermeers.”
“Calm down. I’m going to get her back. I have an idea where she might be. I’m going to—”
“No, you’re not going to do anything. It’s too dangerous. Whoever stole the painting has already injured two guards.”
“I’m going to alert Luca. He’s a professional.”
“What’s that smell?” Massimo asked. “I’m getting hungry. I’m going down to Antonio’s. Can I bring anyone back anything?”
Gerda shook her head. “It’s the middle of the morning. Didn’t you just eat breakfast?”
“I can’t focus on an empty stomach,” Massimo replied.
“I may be gone for a day or two,” Hadley said.
“Whatever it takes. Just don’t take any unnecessary chances.”
“I won’t. But Luca and I will track her down.”
“Aren’t your parents coming in tomorrow?” Gerda said.
“Yes. If I’m not back by tomorrow night, can you keep them occupied?”
“Sure.”
Hadley called Luca.
“Can you come over to the office right away? We have an emergency.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, but the Vermeer has been stolen.”
“I’ll be right over. It seems like weeks since I’ve seen you. I’ll get my sister to watch Bocelli.”
When Luca arrived at the office, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed her against his body. Then he held her back and began sniffing her. “Cara, you smell delicious. Is that a new perfume? It’s making me hungry for….pasta, among other things.”
Hadley sighed. Apparently, she was going to smell like tomato sauce for the rest of her life.
“It’s Eau de Pomodoro,” Hadley joked. “Gerda, we’re going to run down to the station and catch the next train to Milan. Could you book us a hotel there?”
“Sure. But what about clothes?”
“If we need a change, we’ll buy some there. It’s the fashion capital of the world.”
Luca looked like he could swallow her whole. He took in a breath. “Cara. A hotel. No clothes.”
“Luca, this is business. We won’t have time to see the inside of the hotel room.”
Luca frowned.
Hadley grabbed his hand. “Come on, we don’t have any time to lose.”
“Why are we going to Milan?”
“Remember that smarmy art dealer from Milan, Signore Lombardi, who came to the Villa Rossi? He was very interested in the Vermeer. I’ll bet he stole it and took it back to his gallery and is hiding it there or in a warehouse or at his home, waiting for a buyer.”
“I never trusted him. Do we have a home address for the guy?”
“It was in that original packet Massimo gave me, but I’ve asked Gerda to text it to me.”
“Shouldn’t I alert the Carabinieri to surround his gallery or get a search warrant for his house?”
“That will overwhelm him. It might scare him away. Let’s just the two of us go to the gallery first and see what’s up. But yes, they can arrange for a search warrant and be waiting for us before they raid his warehouse. That’s a good idea. Don’t they have about three hundred agents?”
“Yes, and their database contains information about more than a million stolen objects.”
“Who knows what else we’ll find there? You know there are solid rumors that his father was working with Hitler and Mussolini to move stolen art from museums across the continent. If we can confirm some of the dealer’s artwork was stolen, we might have enough for a Recovered Treasures exhibit. But right now, I want to focus on the Vermeer. We have to get her back.”
When Hadley and Luca arrived at Santa Maria Novella station, she bought two tickets on the next train to Milan’s Centrale station. Luckily, the train was a high-speed direct that would get them into Milan in one hour and fifty minutes. Much better than the typical journey of three hours and five minutes. There were twenty-three direct trains from Florence to Milan each day.
She and Luca settled in seats across from each other in Executive Class service. The flagship red arrow train was comfortable and ultra-modern, with access to a gourmet meal served at their seats. Luca moved over to the seat next to her.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t kiss you if you’re way over there.”
“Luca, people will be sitting in the seats next to us.”
“I don’t see any people, do you?”
“Not yet, but—”
Luca silenced her with a slow, amorous kiss. “We only have an hour and fifty minutes on this journey. Let’s see what mischief we can get up to.”
“You’re impossible,” Hadley said, returning his kisses, then coming up for air, adding, “We have to discuss wedding plans.”
“First things first,” Luca said, holding her tighter against his body.
The train began to move, and she nestled in Luca’s arms, kissing him as the train pulled out of the station. They seemed to be alone in the cabin.
“Put your hand down there,” Luca coaxed as the train gained momentum. She felt his weapon.
“Why do you want me to feel your gun?”
He moved her hand lower. “That’s not what I had in mind, Cara.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rule Number Seven: A Contemporary Canvas May Be No Less Valuable Than A Fifteenth-Century Work Of Art If You Peel Back The Layers. Restoration works wonders. True beauty is a pigment of your imagination. Open yourself to a palette of possibilities.
~Massimo Domingo’s Pocket Guide to Stolen Art Recovery—Volume 2
The Comando Carabinieri Tutela Patrimonio Culturale (TPC) is in the business of safeguarding and protecting Italy’s rich art history. Hadley had no doubt they would do their job. But the Vermeer had disappeared under her watch, and she wanted to be the one to get it back. Perhaps they were chasing shadows in Milan, but her instincts told her she was on the right track. The dealer was the only other person who knew about the Vermeer besides the prince. And he was anxious to get rid of the painting. It might have been a coincidence that the Vermeer was stolen, but Hadley didn’t believe in coincidences.
Signore Lombardi wouldn’t have stolen it himself. He’d probably sent some lackeys to do his dirty work. By now, the masterpiece would be at his residence or in his gallery or his warehouse.
Hadley and Luca checked into the hotel, freshened up, and walked to the nearby gallery in Centro Storico. It was one o’clock, so the gallery was closed for the midday riposa and wouldn’t open again until 3:30 p.m.
“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep the painting here, in the obvious place.”
“I agree.”
“Do you have the address of his warehouse?” Hadley asked.
“Yes, my friend in the Art Squad got it for me. Signore Lombardi’s father has been on their screen for a long time.”
“Their screen? Oh, you mean on their radar.”
“Si. I’ve been in contact with them. They’re checking the warehouse now.”
“Then let’s pay him a visit at his home. I have that address.” Hadley hailed a taxi from outside the hotel lobby and handed them a piece of paper with the address. “It’s on the outskirts of Milan, near Bergamo.”
Hadley and Luca were quiet in the taxi. When the car pulled into the circular driveway of an exclusive, three-story eighteenth-century villa, surrounded by a well-tended park with a river flowing nearby, Hadley’s eyes widened. An impressive fountain stood outside a Mediterranean golden-yellow stucco façade with turquoise-trimmed windows. She asked the taxi driver for his number and paid him extra for his availability. “We’ll call you when we’re ready to return to Milan.”
“Business must be good,” Luca observed, exiting the cab and helping Hadley out.
“I’ll say. This place is a palace. I looked him up on the Internet. This house was just renovated. Renovations cost money. There are twenty-five bedrooms!”
“Why does he need all that space?”
“He rents it out for events and ceremonies,” Hadley said.
Luca used the ornate brass door knocker to signal their arrival.
A tall, uniformed man answered the door.
“May I help you?”
“We’re looking for Signore Bruno Lombardi,” Hadley announced.
“Do you have an appointment?” he asked.
“No, but we’re here on police business,” Luca added, flashing his badge.
The butler raised his brows but maintained a polite air.
“The Signore is at his gallery. I’m expecting him home soon. If you’d like, you may wait. Follow me. Would you like some refreshment?”
“That would be wonderful,” Hadley said.
The butler led them into a large state hall, a lavish space adorned with refined Neoclassical collections, Venetian terrazzo floors, and ceilings frescoed by painters Hadley recognized.
“I’m going to have a look around some of these twenty-five bedrooms before the butler gets back,” Luca said.
“Be careful. Don’t get lost.”
“Cara,” said Luca with a deadpan expression, “don’t miss me too much.”
Several minutes later, the butler returned with a silver tray of fruits, cheeses, and pastries and placed it on a table in front of her.
“This is lovely, thank you,” Hadley said.
“Where is your friend?”
“He had to use the restroom. I understand there are ten of them.”
“That is correct. He’s been gone quite a long time.”
“It must have been something he ate on the train to Milan that disagreed with him.”
The butler looked doubtful. “I’ll let you know when the Signore returns.”
“I appreciate that,” said Hadley covering her lap with a folded white napkin.
Twenty minutes later, Luca reappeared.
“Where have you been,” Hadley hissed. “Lurch is beginning to get suspicious.”
“Who is this Lurch?”
“Never mind.”
“I had a look around, and you won’t believe what I found.”
“What?”
“The Vermeer. Hiding in plain sight.”
“Tell me. Where?” Hadley jumped up excitedly, grabbing Luca’s arms.
“I wandered into another state hall and the room looked like it was set up for an auction. There were about twenty chairs lined up, with a podium, a microphone, a gavel, and a TV hook-up, I guess for the out-of-towners who couldn’t gather in person. The Vermeer was hidden under a cloth on an easel, waiting to be revealed.”
“You just took the painting?”
“Well, actually, I removed a similar-sized painting on the wall and substituted it for the Vermeer. It’s hidden under a cloth, so no one will notice until the auction begins.”
“Clever. Where is she now?”
She’s hiding in the bushes out front.
“Hiding in the bushes?”
“Yes. I called the taxi, and when he meets us out front, I’ll grab the painting, and we’ll be on our way.”
“But what about the Signore?”
“Let’s let the Art Squad deal with him. Animals like that are dangerous when they’re cornered. There’s an arrest warrant out for the man. I got a call from my contact, and they found a warehouse full of stolen art, paintings that disappeared during World War Two. Everything is well documented. The names and addresses of families the art was confiscated from and the provenance of the paintings. Who the paintings were sold to. These are masterpieces the Art Squad has been trying to track down for decades. Apparently, Lombardi Senior represented both Mussolini and Hitler, and first he and now his son have been trading off ill-gotten gains illicitly all these years. No wonder Lombardi Junior can live like a king in this villa, up to his throat in the dirty business.”
Hadley laughed. “You mean up to his neck.”
“Like I said. You and Massimo will have your hands full, repatriating all of that stolen Nazi art.”
The butler entered the room.
“Signore Lombardi has been delayed. And we’re about to have company, so I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”
“Thank you for the refreshments,” Hadley said. “Everything was delicious.”
