Chapter 7
Amelie sat across the table from Maurice in Tante Mimi’s diner. She’d barely touched the burger and fries she’d ordered. Hell, she never ordered a burger because of the caloric intake she allotted herself. What had she been thinking?
That was just it. She hadn’t been able to think once Maurice had given her the news from Swede.
“A Monet?” she whispered for the tenth time, glancing around as if the diner might be full of spies. “The Beno?ts owned a Monet?”
“That has to be what Schulz is looking for,” Amelie said. “How could something that unique and precious just disappear?”
“Armand told you his parents packed up their belongings and valuables and left their estate.”
“He did,” Amelie agreed.
“They had to have taken it with them.”
Amelie nodded. “They hid in the country until they could get on a boat to the US.”
“They could’ve hidden the painting in the place where they were lying low in France,” Maurice said. “Armand didn’t mention where they hid, did he?”
“No. I’m not sure he knew. He was pretty good at remembering details. If his parents had told him where they’d hidden, he would’ve remembered.”
“And he didn’t mention what they took with them on the ship to the US? I wonder if there are copies of the ship manifests from that timeframe. If we could find the ship they were on, it might tell us something about how much luggage the Beno?ts brought with them.”
“Finding a manifest from the ship the Beno?ts were on would be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
Maurice’s lips curled.
Amelie’s curved as well. “Let me guess. Swede is good at finding needles in haystacks?”
“He is.” Maurice grinned. “What month did you say the Beno?ts left Paris?”
“Early June.”
Maurice keyed information into his cell phone and sent a text to Swede. “He might find records of the ships that left France headed for the United States around that time.”
“Would they have used their own names to book passage?”
“Maybe,” Maurice said. “It doesn’t hurt to search on their names.”
The door to the diner swung open.
Amelie frowned as Fredrick Schulz entered. The man’s forehead creased in a frown as he scanned the room. When his gaze landed on Amelie and Maurice, he spun and marched toward them.
“Incoming,” Maurice murmured.
Amelie tensed. “I see him.”
Maurice rose from his chair and blocked the man from getting to Amelie. He tipped his head back and stared down his nose at the German, five inches shorter than Maurice. “Ms. Aubert has already told you everything she knew from her conversations with her former employer, Armand Beno?t.”
“I have information she might want to hear.”
Amelie touched Maurice’s back. “Let him talk,” she said.
Maurice didn’t move for a good thirty seconds, staring down at the smaller man. “Hurt her, and you might not live to regret it,” he said in a low, resonant tone.
Schulz raised his hands. “I did not come here to hurt anyone. I am here to keep her from getting hurt.”
“It’s okay,” Amelie assured Maurice. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Maurice glared at the smaller man before he stepped aside. He remained within reach to move swiftly if he needed to dive in to break up a fight or keep Schulz from hurting Amelie.
Schulz slid into the booth opposite Amelie.
Maurice sat next to Amelie and leaned forward enough that, if he had to, he could fling his body across hers to keep her safe.
“Ms. Aubert,” Schulz started, “I fear you are in grave danger.”
“The dark waters,” Amelie murmured low enough that Fredrick couldn’t make out her words.
The brief narrowing of Maurice’s eyes indicated he’d caught her words and meaning.
“How am I in danger?” Amelie asked. “I don’t know anything about the Beno?ts other than what Armand told me.”
“From the letters and records acquired from WWII,” the German said, “we know the Beno?ts owned a very beautiful and priceless painting by Claude Monet.”
Irritation, bordering on anger, flashed through Amelie.
So, Schulz had known about the specific painting that Amelie and Maurice had only just learned about.
“Why didn’t you tell us about the painting when you came to my bakery?” Amelie frowned. “And from Luis’s account, you didn’t mention it when you visited him in California.”
“Please accept my apologies for not being more transparent. I wished to gauge how much you knew. From both your reaction and that of Armand’s son, Luis, I realized you had no knowledge of the painting’s existence.”
“Did you reveal to Armand the specific painting you were researching?” Maurice asked.
The German shook his head. “No.”
“How does a Monet painting that disappeared during WWII place me in danger?” Amelie asked. “I didn’t even know it existed until today.”
“Perhaps, I should explain my obsession with the painting.”
“We’re listening,” Maurice said, his tone tense.
Schulz dipped his head. “I have spent many hours, days, years in the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration, looking through the photo albums and records listing almost every piece of art either sold or identified as being in France prior to the occupation. Over three years ago, I came across the Monet owned by Germaine Beno?t. It was marked with the status of ‘lost.’ Something about the woman in the painting captivated me. She has haunted me ever since.” He drew in a breath and let it out slowly.
“I immediately flew to Paris to interview Germaine’s only descendant, Armand Beno?t, hoping to discover the painting’s whereabouts.
After our meeting, I knew I would have to trace his parents’ journey if I had any hope of finding the Lady by the Stream. ”
“And?” Amelie prompted impatiently.
“I have followed leads for missing artwork for decades. In the last four or five years, some of the works I’ve located have been stolen before I could get to them first.” He shook his head.
“If you look up my record, you will see that I have never kept one of my findings. I meet with the former owners and/or their descendants to determine the appropriate disposition. I was deeply concerned over the thefts and afraid I was leading the thieves to those priceless items.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“You and Armand Beno?t’s son were the last known people to have contact with him before he was found dead in his restaurant.” Schulz leaned closer.
Maurice semi-blocked Amelie’s body with his without saying anything.
“I spoke to Armand two days before he died,” Schulz blurted.
Amelie touched a hand to her chest, an image of Armand lying on the floor of his beloved kitchen filling her thoughts. She swallowed hard to force the lump rising in her throat back down.
The German continued. “He told me much the same story as you have relayed.”
“You spoke to Armand?” Amelie shook her head. As their bond had deepened, Armand had shared so much with her about his love for Julia and how he’d spent a lifetime second-guessing his decision to stay in Paris and let her go. “He said nothing to me about this conversation.”
“Probably because nothing came of it.” Schulz drew in a breath and let it out.
“I met with him at his restaurant. Having purchased a meal, I asked to speak to the chef. He came out to speak to his customer. When I told him the real purpose of my visit, he sat for a few minutes and listened. He said he’d never seen or heard his parents speak of any special artwork.
If they had taken it with them when they left their estate, they had sold it along the way.
Even if they had left it for him, he had no use for such expensive decoration.
He would have sold it to upgrade his restaurant.
I believed him. When he died two days later, I began to think the thief that had followed my research had gone from stealing priceless objects to killing those who might currently possess them. ”
Amelie’s gut knotted. She’d been shocked and found it very hard to believe that such a vibrant man, so full of life and passion for his culinary art, could drop dead so suddenly.
She’d convinced him to get a physical the year before, and the doctor had given him a squeaky-clean bill of health.
How could he suddenly have had a heart problem?
Had Armand been murdered?
A hand reached for hers in her lap. Maurice curled his warm fingers around her cold ones and squeezed gently. He directed his gaze toward Schulz. “Why wait all this time after Armand’s death to come after his son and Ms. Aubert?”
Schulz looked down at his hands. “After I learned of Armand’s demise, I stopped searching for the painting.
Between the thefts of other artwork I located and Armand’s death after I spoke with him, I stepped back from my research and focused on other pursuits.
I felt responsible in a way for the death of Armand Beno?t and refused to be responsible for leading the killer to others I might interview in my search for her. ”
Amelie couldn’t help but notice Schulz’s use of the word her in reference to the painting of the Lady by the Stream.
“For over two years, I resisted the urge to physically follow the Beno?t’s journey.
Instead, I continued my research online and looked for any evidence of a sale of that painting in the French countryside near where they’d hidden while waiting for a ship to the US.
I also looked for any mention of such a sale in New Orleans during the time they lived there. ”
“Did you find one?” Amelie asked.