Chapter 7 #2
“None listing a Claude Monet.” His brow furrowed.
“Although I didn’t find a sale, I found a record from a respected New Orleans art dealer who had performed an appraisal on a painting for an anonymous Frenchman.
That appraisal was performed in June of 1945, shortly after the victory in Europe.
The notes indicated an impressionist painting.
Artist’s name was identified by only the initials C.M.
, with the appraised value of two thousand dollars, which, at that time, was significant, especially considering the cost of funding a world war. ”
“You think that was the Beno?ts’ painting?” To Amelie, it made sense.
Schulz nodded. “The information was worth investigating.”
“Which would indicate the painting made it to the US,” Maurice concluded. “And they didn’t sell it. At least, not in New Orleans.”
“If Armand had no knowledge of the painting’s whereabouts, I would assume you hit a dead-end,” Amelie said.
“I would have agreed, except for old letters I discovered on an ancestry website, written by Germaine Beno?t to Olivier Lecroix, his distant cousin in Nice, dated before the German occupation of France. In those letters, Beno?t warned his cousin that if German occupation of France was imminent, he should hide his assets and record the location in a code, like they used when they’d played secret agents as children.
He should place that code in something meaningful to him but not to anyone else. ”
Maurice’s brow furrowed. “What’s meaningful to you but not to anyone else?”
“A personal journal would mean a lot to yourself and not to anyone else.”
Amelie’s lips twisted. “Unless your life was more interesting.” She didn’t recall seeing any journals in Armand’s possessions. However, he could have stored them away.
Photographs of family members were another medium meaningful only to those who cared about the people in them.
Amelie almost spoke but then bit down on her tongue instead. Luis had Armand’s old photographs. Though Schulz was leading them to believe someone else was following him around and stealing the items he’d located, Amelie wasn’t ready to trust the man.
And then there was the watch. She wanted to look at Maurice but resisted. Once Schulz left, she would share her thoughts with him and give Luis a call.
“Again, if you were researching online, why did you decide to get out and put boots on the ground?”
Schulz sighed. “An acquaintance I know at the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration, who knew I’d spent a lot of time with the files containing the artworks, sent a text, letting me know the photo album containing the Lady by the Stream had been stolen a week ago.
” His brow furrowed. “I suspect whoever took it could be connected to Armand Beno?t’s untimely demise. ” He met Amelie’s gaze.
“Why would he take three years to show up looking for more clues?” Maurice asked.
“Like me, he might have turned to online research. The letters I found were posted recently. The search then went from the actual painting to a document or journal with a code that could lead to the painting.”
“In essence, a treasure map,” Amelie said softly.
Schulz nodded.
“As I told you before, Armand lived a simple life outside the restaurant,” Amelie said. “He left little behind—just money he set up in a trust for his son.”
“No journals, ledgers, books or letters he might have had in his library or had his attorney deliver upon his death?” Schulz asked.
Amelie’s lips pressed together. “His work at the restaurant was everything to him.” He’d been happiest in his element, making great cuisine.
“I came to warn you to beware.” Schulz pushed to his feet and straightened his blazer.
Maurice and Amelie rose as well.
“I shall be in New Orleans to check on shipping industry documentation, on the slim chance they keep records that far back of Germaine’s employment,” Schulz said. “I hope to locate the residence where the Beno?ts lived.”
“If the house still exists,” Maurice said. “Hurricane Katrina and the resulting flooding destroyed a significant portion of some of the older neighborhoods.”
“I am aware.” Schulz held out his hand to Amelie. “Thank you for your time and patience.”
“Good luck on your search.”
Maurice shook his hand next. “Let us know if you find anything. Now that we know what’s at stake, we’re curious about the final destination of the Monet.”
The other man nodded. “She deserves to shine in the light.” He turned and left the diner.
Mandy Boudreaux, the black-haired, brown-eyed young woman who’d purchased the diner from Tante Mimi, thus becoming the new Mimi, hurried over with a pot of coffee. “Need a refill?”
Amelie pushed her coffee cup closer. “Hit me, Mimi.”
“I’ll take some of that as well,” Maurice said.
As she poured, Mimi murmured, “That looked like one intense conversation. Everything all right?”
Amelie smiled at her friend and peer. Mimi, a talented chef in her own right, had left New Orleans for the quieter life in Bayou Mambaloa. On several occasions, they’d teamed up to cater events in the area. “As all right as it can be.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to the bakery. What I don’t understand is who would anyone ransack a bakery and leave without taking some of your mouth-watering pastries?”
Amelie grinned. “Someone on a diet?”
“What’s wrong with people?” Mimi poured coffee into Maurice’s cup. “You let me know if you need anything over there. And I’ll keep an eye out for anyone lurking.” Mimi reached out to take Amelie’s hand with her empty one. “Neighbors have to look out for each other.”
Amelie’s eyes filled, and her heart swelled. “Thanks, Mimi. Moving back to Mambaloa was the best decision I ever made.”
“Same here,” Mimi said. “Who needs a big city where you’re surrounded by people you don’t know?”
A customer called out, “Mimi, I could use some of that coffee over here.”
“That’s my cue.” Mimi grinned. “Be careful out there.”
As soon as Mimi left their table, Amelie brought out her cell phone.
Maurice shifted to sit across from her. “Calling Luis?” he asked in a low tone only she could hear.
She nodded.
In a whisper, he added, “About the photos?”
Again, she nodded, selected Luis’s number and placed the call.
Luis answered on the first ring. “You must be a mind reader.”
She laughed. “Were you thinking about me?”
“Not only was I thinking about you, but I was also just packing an overnight bag.”
Amelie smiled. “Are you coming to Bayou Mambaloa?”
“If the offer’s still open, I’d like to come tomorrow.”
“Always.”
“Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Amelie said before he could hang up. “Luis, can you look at the backs of your father’s photos?”
“I guess,” he said. “Why?”
“Just to see if there’s anything written on them.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll have to pull them out of their frames,” Luis said. “I’ll be right back.”
Amelie’s gaze met Maurice’s.
He reached across the table and took her empty hand, his fingers curling around hers, grounding her and making her remember to breathe.
“I’m back,” Luis said. “I’m looking at the backs of the photographs. On the one taken in their first home in Paris, their names, Germaine and Celine Beno?t, are handwritten with the date of May the third, 1940.”
“Anything else?” Amelie asked.
“No.” He paused. “On the one taken in front of the Saint Louis Cathedral, there’s just the date of October 14, 1950.”
Amelie had hoped to find more than just dates and names.
If the photos didn’t have a secret code on them, Germaine’s idea to hide the directions to valuable assets could be lost forever in a book or journal that had been donated to the homeless.
Monet’s painting could be hidden somewhere, never to be found.
“Is that all you needed?” Luis asked.
“It is,” Amelie responded, masking her disappointment.
“I’ll bring the photos with me in case you want to inspect them yourself.”
“Thanks, Luis. Drive safely. The roads in the bayou can be a little tricky. We’ll see you tomorrow.” After the call ended, Amelie’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Well, scratch the photos. Where else would Germaine have hidden the code that would lead to his assets?”
Maurice squeezed her hand gently. “We might never find out.”
“Seems a shame for the painting to be lost forever. I would love to have seen it in all its glorious color.”
“It seems others would love to see it as well.”
Amelie shivered. “Do you believe Fredrick’s story?”
Maurice’s eyes narrowed. “If he’s right, someone is hellbent on finding that painting and isn’t above killing to get there first.”
“Do you think that someone is Schulz, trying to throw us off by making us think it’s someone else?” Amelie’s fingers tightened around Maurice’s.
“I feel like the alligators are circling the swamp.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay in the boat with you.”