What Evil Lurks in Monet's Pond: A by Sara M. Barton Page B

are
financially profiting from their cooperative votes,” I suggested.
“Maybe Anna Szabo is funneling kickbacks their way.”
    “Could be.” I caught him glancing at his
watch.
    “You have to be somewhere?” Even I could hear
the disappointment in my voice. Ross reached over and pulled on a
strand of my hair.
    “Never fear, Maise. I have your back.”
    “If only you also had my front,” I sighed
forlornly. I admit I was aching for Ross’s touch. He always had a
knack for pushing the right buttons on my body and sending me into
ecstasy with his manipulative hands. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able
to lay in bed with him and not have to worry about being
discovered?
     

Chapter Ten --
     
    “Oh, I’ve got a plan for that, too,” he
winked, slipping out of the passenger seat. “But for now, I have to
go coordinate things with the FBI field office in New York. We’re
just about to discover a dangerous criminal organization in Hungary
that has penetrated the US in search of economic gains.
Szabo-dabo-doo!”
    “Crap!” I growled, restarting the engine. I
threw the car into ‘drive’ and continued on. Forget about your
love life, Maise. You can’t do anything about that. Concentrate on
the case, girl.
    WikiLeaks. The Szabos must have researched my
name. After all, I was beginning to show my work overseas fairly
consistently. And my sister was busy moving forward with the plans
for Cadell’s Castle. She wanted to draw attention to the Scottish
version of the American Impressionists, the Colourists. That would
only enhance the Tattinger’s collection of minor artworks and those
amazing masterpieces. The more I thought about it, the more I could
see that if the museum could begin to use its money wisely, it
could actually become a viable avenue not only for encouraging
future artists, but also for selling limited editions of the
artists like Tate Achincloss. The Szabos seemed determined to stop
that from happening. Why kill the artist?
    And then I wanted to kick myself for not
asking Ross who the dead guy was. Maybe I could figure out why the
Szabos picked him to lure to Connecticut. Then again, was he
actually murdered? I didn’t see any blood on the body when I
looked. Maybe after lunch, I would give Lieutenant Gromski a call
and offer my services as an art expert. While I was at it, I could
also hook him up with art blogger Elise Ulbricht, the CIA watchdog
in New York. If anyone had her ear to the ground on this art heist,
it was she. It might even get us some dirt on the Szabo family.
    I helped myself to some of Nora’s minestrone
soup, ladling it right out of the Crockpot she had sitting on the
counter. She was working at her computer at the pine table.
    “How’s it going?” she wondered.
    “Better,” I admitted, knowing it was true.
Not only was I going to save my sister from the creeps who wanted
to ruin her plans for Cadell’s Castle, I thought I knew exactly
what I was going to do for Alberta.
    I took Gesso and Elmore for a walk as soon as
I was done. I tossed snowballs for the pair in the backyard,
letting them romp for a good twenty minutes. I composed the
conversation in my head, went over all the fine points I wanted to
cover. And then, when I felt like I had a serious handle on the
situation, I headed into the house, got myself comfy in a big arm
chair in the library, and then dialed my cell phone.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Marty. It’s me, Maisie.”
    “Oh, hi.” He sounded unsure, but that was
normal for him.
    “Listen, I know you’re a CPA with a lot of
experience. I was wondering if I could hire you.”
    “Never a good idea to work for family,
Maisie. I can recommend someone.”
    “I want you, Marty, because this is very
important and very hush-hush. I’m in need of someone who can do
forensic accounting. I want to know if my art prints have been
pirated.”
    “What do you mean pirated?” Ah, the man is
showing some interest. Perfect, I said to myself. He’s
intrigued.
    I spent