Eight Days to Live by Iris Johansen Page A

show. Which did she prefer doing? Why had she painted MacDuff’s Run? Did she have an intimate relationship with the earl? That one had almost made her lose her temper. She was always getting that question, and she’d almost stopped putting the painting on exhibit to avoid it. But Celine had begged her to bring the painting to Paris because the speculation alone would help the show. Good business, she had said. It had been Celine’s wheedling that had made MacDuff’s Run a part of the twenty paintings in the gallery downstairs.
    No, there was nothing that she could see in the article itself that would offend anyone. She glanced at the photos of the paintings that marched vertically down the page. That was the only part of the article she’d been happy with. All in color, all a decent-enough size to show detail.
Storm Morning
. A landscape she’d done in southern France.
MacDuff’s Run
.
    Silhouette at the Lake
. A shadow picture of Eve framed against a blazing sunset on the lake.
Child at the Circus
. A little boy with cotton candy and huge dark eyes wide with wonder.
Guilt
, the portrait that Celine had tried to persuade her to—
    Guilt
.
    She stiffened. She was looking for unusual, and the offer tonighthad definitely been out of the ordinary. Even Celine had thought that the amount of money the computer executive had offered was mind-blowing.
    What had he seen in the painting that had made him so determined to have it?
    She grabbed her robe and headed for the door. She turned on the gallery lights as she got out of the elevator. The first thing that jumped out at her was the oak door, now taken from its hinges and propped against the wall. They’d had to take the door down to remove Celine, and the opening was now only veiled in plastic. The police forensic team had taken the actual cross on which Celine had been nailed with them and said they’d pick up the heavy door on the next trip to check it for any additional evidence.
    She found herself looking to see if she could see traces of blood on the wood.
    She quickly averted her eyes and moved past the velvet ropes toward the painting.
    Guilt
.
    Burning dark eyes, a bearded face twisted with torment. A painting of which she was very proud, but perhaps not one for which an art collector might pay an exorbitant sum.
    “What are you doing down here?”
    She turned to see MacDuff coming toward her. “I could ask the same of you. Where did you come from?”
    “I was outside with Jock. I saw the lights go on.” He glanced beyond her at the painting. “It’s very good. Powerful.” He smiled. “But I prefer the one of MacDuff’s Run. You’re sure you won’t sell it to me?”
    “Yes, I’m sure.” She took a step closer to the painting. “Now that you’re here, you might as well help me. That frame is heavy. Will you take the painting down for me?”
    “It would be my pleasure.” He lifted the painting off the wall. “May I ask why?”
    “I want to look at the frame and see if it’s been tampered with. Set it against the wall.” She knelt to examine it. “Someone offered Celine much too much money for
Guilt
this evening. Some computer billionaire. She said he was very persistent. I’m wondering why.”
    “Tastes in art can become obsessive. Maybe he thought it was worth it to him.”
    “Or maybe someone managed to insert something into the frame that he wanted to retrieve. It seems more likely.”
    MacDuff knelt beside her. “Where was the painting framed?”
    “New York. I chose the frame.” She was running her hand over the decorative scrollwork. “But that doesn’t mean that after I got here it might not have been tampered with. You look at the other side.”
    “I’m flattered you trust me.”
    She didn’t answer. Everything seemed okay, but what did she know? Maybe she’d get lucky. She went carefully over the other sides of the frame.
    “Nothing,” MacDuff said.
    She sat back on her heels. “Call Venable. We need an expert to go