Page 43 of Skin Game

Noting the name of Pritchard, Gabe scanned the short article. The exhaustion he’d felt from getting up before 4 a.m. evaporated.

The paintings were the creation of world-famous Pacific Northwest-born artist Martin Crevan. Brilliantly talented, Crevan is best known for his moody landscapes that ask the observer to question man’s purpose on earth and in the universe in general. Crevan is also known for his artistic female nudes. Notable for being part of the Lost Generation of Paris expatriates in the 1920s, Crevan was an associate of Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, and Modigliani, among others.

“Could this guy be more pretentious? Barf.”

Crevan, eighty-five, could not be reached for comment.

“We’ve never had anything like this happen in our little town,” Police Chief E. Jackson told the Gazette. “We’re asking that anyone with information please step forward.”

As if. In the real world, thieves did not step forward and admit to their crimes.

The 201 Gallery is widely known for hosting some of the more famous artists who live in our midst, and Martin Crevan is one of our own. “This isa tragedy,” said one local artist. “Who can we trust? How did this happen?”

When asked if they had any suspects, Chief Jackson confirmed that they did not have anyone in custody or any clues. “As for a motive, we imagine it is nothing more than greed and money. The paintings will likely be sold on the black market and never again be seen by the public.”

Gabe sat back. “Huh.” Then he did a quick search and was not at all surprised to find there was no longer an art gallery or any shop in Westfort called the 201 Gallery. Also, as far as he could discover, there was no follow-up story mentioning any recovery of the artwork.

“Huh,” Gabe repeated. But also,so what?

Maybe this Carla Pritchard was related to Heidi, but the theft had happened almost fifty years ago. Carla could be dead by now. She could have changed her name. Gabe briefly shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. This search was giving him a headache.

What business was at 201 now? Gabe typed in the address and was rewarded withWindward Kite Shop.His phone chose that moment to vibrate against the coffee table, alerting him to an incoming call. His heart skipped what felt like several beats. Snatching it up, he saw that it was Casey.

“What?”

“Did you call the Sheriff’s Office and let them know about the shooting? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you distracted me from doing so last night.”

Gabe didn’t tell Casey that he’d never intended to call Eagan. Involving law enforcement in his life was not on the top of his to-do list, wouldn’t even make an appearance on page two. There would be questions he didn’t have the answers to and no reason to think that TCSO would have better ideas. Best not to include them at all.

It could even be that the gunman had been Dirty Socks Randy. Maybe, like Juliet Carter, Randy had figured out who Gabe was and where he lived and had decided to pay him a revenge visit.

“No, I haven’t. What difference is it going to make at this point? It’s not as if the guy hung around.”

“Make. The. Call.”

Gabe smiled at the gravelly, demanding tone. It was nice to know that someone cared.

Still didn’t want to call in the cops though.

“Casey, seriously, why bother?”

Casey seemed to hesitate before answering him. “If something else happens, if you continue to be harassed, they’ll have a record of the instances.”

“Me, Gabriel Karne, call the police, sheriff, whatever? I don’t think so.” At this point, he was arguing for the sake of it. And to keep Casey on the phone with him a little longer. The house felt too quiet without him there.

“Too bad for you.” Casey sounded smug now. “I called them a few minutes ago when I figured out that you weren’t planning on it. One of the deputies will be out to take pictures and talk to you later today. And no, I’m not sorry about it.”

Well, at least that was cleared up. Casey had already called TCSO and had no regrets. Nice. That was a very Gabriel Karne move of him, act and ask forgiveness later.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, but hey, check this out. I found an article about an art gallery heist that happened in late July of 1978. And guess what? As an aside, heist is one of my favorite words.”

“Of course it is. What am I supposed to guess?”

“One of the employees was named Carla Pritchard.”