Dog Collar Knockoff by Adrienne Giordano

Bart.”
    “Oh, no,” Joey said.
    Ignoring him, Lucie moved back to her laptop and pointed at the screen. “I found a Michigan gallery that sells Gomez’s paintings. His will dictates that the gallery is the only one with permission to sell his work. Apparently, the owner allowed him to show his paintings there when he was a nobody.”
    “Wha… what?” Joey said. “Why are we talking about this?”
    Ro shot him one of her hairy eyeball looks. “Shut up, Joey. Ignore him, Luce.”
    Gladly. “I took a finder’s fee for the painting—a Gomez —that Bart Owens sold to Mr. Lutz.”
    “So?”
    She’d like to smack that giant head of his.
    “Well, smart-ass, Lauren wondered if the painting might be a copy. A fake . If it is, Mr. Lutz got scammed by Bart Owens. And I helped.”
    “Oh, boo-effing-hoo,” Joey said. “Maybe the painting is real.”
    If she didn’t murder her brother, it would be a miracle. “Okay, fine . Let’s say the painting is legit. If Bart didn’t get it from the Michigan gallery, I’ve accidentally brokered an illegal deal. Either way,” Lucie flopped one hand out, then the other, shifted them up and down like scales, “I’m going to jail for fraud.”

Chapter Four
    A t oh-eight-hundred hours, Mission Lucie-Does-Art went into motion. Lucie-Does-Art? Ew. That sounded bad.
    Whatever. Work to be done here.
    Following protocol, Lucie entered the Owens Gallery via the back door. Keegan, one of Bart’s part-time sales associates, sat at the desk in the cramped office scrolling through a spreadsheet.
    “Good morning, Keegan.”
    He swiveled sideways, his stick-thin body swinging fast as he smoothed his tie. An Andy Warhol today. Keegan had a thing for ties imprinted with works from famous artists. So far, Lucie’s favorite was The Scream by Edvard Munch. The original painting, a pastel, depicted an agonized person, hands pressed against their cheeks, belting out a scream. In short, it could have been Lucie.
    Today, he’d paired the tie with a pair of black dress slacks and a funky light-green shirt. His short hair, as normal, had been gelled back and the overhead light reflected off its glossy glow.
    “Hello, my little Lucie,” Keegan said.
    Barely thirty, just a few years older than Lucie, Keegan’s delusions of sophistication and grandeur resulted in his calling her his “little Lucie.”
    Lucie glanced around. “Where’s Oscar?”
    “They haven’t come down yet. Are you early?”
    Bart and Oscar lived in an apartment over the gallery. And, yes, as a matter of fact, she was early. Mission Lucie-Does-Art required it because Keegan, bless his gossiping heart, had a tendency to babble. And if one showed the least bit of interest, the man would prove just how in-the-know he was.
    She checked her watch. “Well, look at that, I guess I am. That’s okay. I can wait.”
    “Coffee?”
    “No. Thank you.” She leaned one hip against the desk. “Have you met Lauren yet? My new dog walker? She’s an art history major. She nearly drooled when we came in here the other morning.”
    Keegan gave her a wry smile. “I have not met her. Tell her to come by and I’ll show her some work. What’s on the floor isn’t the half of it.”
    Un-huh. Lucie would just file that away in her tickler. That’s what investigators did. They mentally filed things. “I will do that. She saw the painting the Lutzses bought and thought it was a Gomez. Said she’d done a paper on him once and thought his paintings were only sold in certain galleries. How cool is that?”
    Investigators also didn’t always admit what they knew.
    “She’s correct. The only gallery allowed to sell them is in Michigan.”
    “Huh, I’ll have to tell her she was right. Any idea how much they cost? I’m sure I can’t afford it, but I’m opening a new office and something about the artist’s work intrigues me. Just think. It could be my first big girl art purchase.”
    “You are too cute, my little Lucie. The prices vary.