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"It's Saturday night. Don't you ever take a minute off?" She had to admit she was impressed with his devotion to duty.
"Not in the middle of a case." He looked back at the photos. "I do know that this painting was stolen four years ago from a museum in Madrid. I was involved with art crimes at the time. It's an abstract by Miguel DeRosa, a Spanish painter. This piece is entitledA Winter Garden. It was originally purchased for over five million dollars and then donated to the museum after the owner passed away."
"That's a garden?" she asked, moving to the island to take a closer look. She squinted at the blobs of dark green mixed with white and gray. "It doesn't look like anything to me."
He smiled. "Abstract art is not my favorite, either, but to some it's the ultimate form of expression. The painting can be seen in an infinite number of ways by whoever is looking at it."
"I guess," she said doubtfully. "If this painting was stolen, and this picture was sent to Arthur, what do you take away from that?"
"I'm not sure. The fact that he hid the pictures in the floorboard tells me that they're important and probably not in a good way."
"I know you don't want to believe Arthur is a criminal."
"I don't. Arthur spent so much of his life discharging justice to criminals. It seems unimaginable that he could be one himself. But then, I've been fooled before."
She was sorry to have reminded him of that fact. She suspected Flynn had kicked himself around the block a million times for not seeing his father for who he was.
Flynn's gaze moved to the other photos spread across the counter. "I don't recognize these paintings, but I suspect they're stolen, too."
"What would they be worth?"
"Millions of dollars. Someone spent twenty-seven million dollars last year for a painting by Stanley Warinsky, a Russian painter."
She shook her head in amazement. "That's a lot of cash. I know Arthur is rich, but is he that wealthy?"
"His current net worth is about sixty million dollars."
"Seriously?" She was shocked at that figure.
"Arthur inherited money from his parents and also from Francine's estate. He might not spend twenty-seven million for a painting, but he has enough to play on the black market."
"Now I know why he had my mother sign a prenup."
"How did that go over?"
"She didn't like it at first, but she was madly in love. And she's never been about money. She was lucky enough to have inherited enough money and real estate from my dad's estate that she has been able to either not work or just work part-time for most of her life. She's not rich, but she's okay." She paused. "You probably already knew that."
"I did. Have you ever asked your mother to invest in your dream restaurant?"
"No. My mother needs to keep her money. These hospital stays are not cheap, and insurance doesn't cover everything. I would never risk her nest egg on my dream."
"I'm sure she'll inherit something from Arthur."
Her gaze drifted to the large binder she'd set on the counter. "I need to go through that tomorrow. I also need to go through my mom's phone and listen to her voicemails and read her messages. There could be something urgent I have to deal with." She moved back to the coffeemaker, filling two mugs with coffee. She had a feeling she was going to need it.
"Let's go through the phone now," he suggested, as she handed him a mug. "Do you have her password?"
"I do." She grabbed her mom's phone, put in the code, and then hesitated. "I probably should look at them myself first."
"In case she has said something incriminating?" he asked. "I can get a warrant for her phone, Callie. Even if you erased the messages or voicemails, my tech would be able to retrieve them."
"You're saying you'll know everything eventually anyway."
"Yes," he said, meeting her gaze.
As she stared down at the large number by the message icon, she realized she just wasn't up to going through them all. She handed the phone to Flynn, silently praying that there wouldn't be anything damning on the phone. She didn't believe her mother was guilty. She really hoped she was right.
"She has about twenty messages," Flynn muttered. "And eight voicemails."