Chapter 9 Pangs of Conscience
Pangs of Conscience
Lucia sat at the edge of her bed, one boot on, one still dangling from her grip, the afternoon sun slicing through the blinds in harsh slats. Her phone rested beside her on the blanket, the screen still lit with the message.
She’d spent way too much time wondering what she’d done wrong during their second coffee date (she thought it had gone so well!) only to be met with radio silence again.
If this were just personal, she would’ve moved on. She had no time or patience for people who ran hot, then cold. But no. This was business, and she needed to get along with Penelope.
When the text finally came, she’d cheered before dropping onto her bed seconds later, still staring at the screen, unsure how to reply.
Ms. Rossi, how are you? I was wondering if you’re interested in stopping by the Meridian again. We never managed to finish our last tour, and you seemed quite interested in the inner workings of the museum.
First of all, who wrote such formal text messages?
And after two dates! One. Whatever.
The point was, Lucia had thought they were past this sort of plastic friendliness. Unless…it was teasing? They had surely done so in the past, and she shouldn’t be so sensitive.
Unless Penelope knew?
Maybe she’d been too obvious about checking out the staff-only areas. But no. She’d been calm, and a natural curiosity would have been expected.
She sighed and yanked on her other boot.
Lucia didn’t know how she’d explain any of this to Francesca. She’d been summoned to an urgent meeting. Lord knew what bee had now nested in Francesca’s bonnet. She was getting too old for this.
Lucia picked up her phone again, composed a reply, and pressed send.
~ ~ ~
At Francesca’s, they were once more joined by Skye, but this time, Jules made an appearance as well, and it was a welcome sight.
Late sunlight spilled across the floor, gilding the edges of old frames stacked against the wall.
“We have a problem. Actually—two. And the ideas you’ve sent in won’t work,” Francesca said once they’d all settled in her office.
“The Meridian has altered their plans for the Madonna. It will now be shown as a centerpiece, along with your Bellini.” She shot a significant look at Lucia.
“You were in favor of lending them the Bellini.” Lucia crossed her legs, trying to sound composed. No way was she going to take the blame for that.
“Yes, yes, but now it’s interrupting the entire timeline.
Besides, the announcement of the ball left us with little wiggle room,” Francesca said.
“They plan to move the Madonna to the east wing. It’ll be the biggest display for the ball, and the Meridian is adding extra security. ” Francesca grimaced.
“It’s worse. They are adding live feeds,” Jules said.
“Ugh. And now?” Lucia asked.
“Our timing changes. Jules?”
“Right. Producing the spike during the ball no longer works with these new security measures—that’s suicide.
We’ll do it beforehand instead. It ups the risk they’ll react too hard, skip the lab and rush her back on display.
They will really want the Madonna up now, but if we play it right, they won’t have any other choice. ”
“Is it wise to cause the humidity issue just for the Madonna? Couldn’t you also make it look like neighboring pieces are affected, too?” Lucia asked. “That might be less suspicious.”
“I could, yes, but triggering multiple alarms would scream sabotage. One piece, the centerpiece, looks like bad luck instead of an attack,” Jules said.
“So we’re just hoping Blackwell raises the alarm? What if she doesn’t? What if she does and then gets blamed for overreacting?” Lucia asked.
“It’s her job to protect the paintings. She can’t ignore the humidity alarm,” Jules said. “And I’m pretty sure they’d rather overreact than risk damage, especially with loaned pieces. They’ll be even more cautious.”
“Jules is right,” Francesca said. “If half the wing had tripped readings, Montgomery would lock down the whole museum. Subtlety buys us time. Still, this new version carries different risks, and some of them also depend on Blackwell. Before, she was the wild card because we needed her leaning toward removal during the ball.”
“I don’t see how this changes anything. We still need Blackwell to say the painting needs to go to the Conservation Lab and stay there,” Lucia said.
“If we’d triggered the spike during the ball, Blackwell only had to say the word, and the painting would’ve been taken down in a panic.
Now we need more from her.” Francesca tapped her fingers against her glass.
“We’re causing the issue days early. That means the staff might stabilize the vitrine or switch the case entirely.
But if Blackwell insists the risk is still unresolved?
They’ll keep it in the lab through the gala. ”
“They’d do that?” Lucia asked.
“She’s the head conservator. If she flags a risk, no one’s going to override her. Insurance underwriters are notorious—nobody wants that headache. If she sounds the alarm, the painting goes off display and stays locked down,” Francesca said.
“All right, but I don’t see how I can steer her there. Not without raising suspicion,” Lucia said.
“I told you she’d mess this up,” Skye grumbled.
“Oh, shut it, Skye. As if you saw this coming.”
“No, but you should have, considering you painted both and there’s an obvious connection between them that makes it more likely to pair them during an exhibit. Didn’t think of that?”
“Once again, time was of the essence, and—”
“It’s not that big of a deal. This might even be better. It extends our window to get the painting.” Jules said.
“There’s that.” Francesca adjusted the angle of the folder in front of her, lining it up with the edge of the table as if precision there might force order everywhere else.
“What about the exact timing, though?” Lucia asked. “Do we know how long the humidity reading has to hold?”
“Why don’t you ask Blackwell?” Skye suggested.
“What? Like, ‘Oh, what’s your protocol for rushing art back to the lab if there’s an issue with the case?’ And then the exact thing happens with one of their major pieces? That’s not suspicious at all.”
Skye rolled her eyes. “Finesse, as I said. Something you lack.”
Lucia shot her a look, biting back the instinct to respond. Her pulse ticked hard in her throat. Once upon a time, that smirk would’ve made her smile. Now it just grated.
“Enough,” Francesca snapped. “I don’t care what issue you two are nursing. Solve it on your own time, or not. But I won’t allow your childish bickering to jeopardize this mission.” She leveled a hard glare at Skye, who ducked her head, then Lucia, whose gaze drifted to her hands on the tabletop.
“Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes,” both Skye and Lucia said at the same time.
“Lucia, squeeze out what you can. We don’t have room for another mistake.” Francesca turned to Jules. “Now, about the delivery of the fake Madonna.”
Jules cleared her throat, tucking a strand of her light hair behind her ear as her pale face lit up with the glow of the laptop screen. The quiet hum of the machine filled the room. Her fingers flew over her keyboard before she projected something against the huge screen on one of the office walls.
“These are the blueprints of the Meridian. Right next to here…” Jules pointed with a laser pen at a section on the screen. “There’s a supply closet beside the Conservation Lab, so it would be on your way in, Lucia.”
“And what about me?” Skye asked.
“I’ll generate a fake work order and a matching slip.
You’ll deliver the unframed canvas in a portfolio case and hand the slip to staff at the front desk.
Afterward, I’ll scrub the corresponding entry from their system.
When they try to reconcile the paperwork later, it’ll look like a clerical error from a busy week. ”
Skye tilted her head. “And if you don’t get to it in time?”
“Then the discrepancy shows up in real time, not later,” Jules said flatly. “That’s the difference between harmless mess and instant red flag. So once you hand it over, I need to know right away. The sooner I pull the entry, the less chance anyone cross-checks it.”
“High stakes,” Skye said with a grin. “Just the way I like it. But how do I get into the supply closet? Aren’t they usually locked?”
“Yes, but I’ll make sure to get you a badge that will unlock it, and you can hide it behind whatever supplies are in there.” She turned to Lucia. “Do you think you could get a scan or picture from Blackwell’s badge? That would be the easiest way, but if not, I’ll find another.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lucia said, her voice tighter than she’d intended. Her phone sat heavy in her pocket, like it had absorbed the silence of the past few days. Penelope still hadn’t replied, even though Lucia’s response had been innocuous enough: playing dumb, acting excited but benign.
Yet, crickets.
Just as the meeting began to wrap up, Lucia’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out and stared at the pop-up.
One of the flagged donor accounts had just triggered a notification—an email routed through the system she used to monitor all the fake identities tied to her forgeries.
She opened the email under the table, the bluish glow from the screen cutting through the room’s warm light.
Subject: Loan Request: Santini Beach at Sunset
From: Tremaine Gallery
Body: The National Museum in D.C. is preparing an exhibit titled The Hidden Collection: Art Rediscovered and has inquired about a short-term loan of your donated Santini for inclusion. Please advise.
Her stomach clenched. Sweat prickled between her shoulder blades.
Who was behind this exhibit? There was no way in hell the piece would hold up under such scrutiny.
They’d donated it years ago, before her work had fully matured. The Santini piece was good, but not that good.
Lucia bit her lower lip and slid her phone back into her pocket. Her heart thudded so hard she could feel its palpitations. Was this just a fluke? A coincidence? Maybe. But if it wasn’t…
She considered telling Francesca, but given the woman’s current state of paranoia, that might not be the smartest move. Lucia could handle it herself.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Skye murmured, suddenly close beside her.
Lucia tensed. “It’s nothing.”
Skye lifted a brow. “Hmm. You used to be a better liar. What happened?”
“I’m just tired.”
Leaning in, Skye whispered, “Don’t get your heart broken, Gracie. That never ends well.”
Lucia shifted back, bristling. “What would you know about that? You’d need to have one first.”
“Touché.”
When she left Francesca’s place, the sun was close to setting, casting the driveway in honeyed light and long shadows.
Warm air carried the faint scent of jasmine.
For a second, Lucia paused, taking in the orange-red spectacle on the horizon, her fingers itching for her paints and canvases.
The urge to create something of her own instead of copying other people’s pieces rose, so strong, it almost made her dizzy.
With a sigh, she trod toward her car, the gravel crunching under her boots, her mind once more wandering back to the email and its implications. That loan request could mean exposure. Or maybe nothing. But it bothered her.
Then again, there was also Penelope. Why was she even worried about her silence? She was probably just busy or distracted. Maybe Lucia’s own sense of guilt made her see threads that weren’t even there.
Back home, she contemplated writing Penelope again or even calling her. But she didn’t want to seem desperate, so instead, she grabbed her laptop to research this new feature at the National Museum, and if there were any connections to the Meridian or Penelope.
The glow of the laptop lit the darkened kitchen; the hum of the refrigerator filled the silence.
Penelope had started working at the Meridian about a year ago, and Montgomery took on her role a couple of months back, but the two of them had never worked together before.
Prior to the Meridian, Penelope had worked as the Associate Curator of European Art at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and her research had focused heavily on post-Renaissance oil techniques.
So yes, she could easily have contacts at the National Museum, even if nothing in this exhibit pointed directly at her.
No evidence linked any of it to Lucia. No proof.
At least, not yet.