Framed Shadows: Shadows Landing #6 by Kathleen Brooks (well read books TXT) 📗

boy,” an older version of Quad said, slapping his son on the shoulder. “You shaved a whole three seconds off from spring.”

“Wait, doesn’t he play for—” Paxton began to ask, but Tinsley just nodded.

“With the best conditioning coaches in the country. That’s cheating, Quad,” Tinsley teased the college-aged young man who towered over her.

“Sorry, Miss T, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do for the fam.” He rested a hand on her shoulder and Paxton almost laughed at how it engulfed Tinsley’s small frame.

“You’re going to owe your old babysitter tickets to the championship game to make up for it,” Tinsley grinned up at him.

“From your lips to God’s ears. We were so close this March.”

Then the line moved and the restaurant filled in seconds. Paxton noted that as soon as the race was over, the competition faded and a jovial family-like atmosphere took over. Lydia and all her kids came over to say hello. Ellery and Gavin made rounds with their baby to talk to each table. People cruised from table to table until the first round of food came out. Then everyone was seated and ready to eat.

They were halfway through their meal when Tinsley’s brow furrowed. She picked up her phone and answered. “I’m sorry, I’m at family lunch. Can I call you back?”

Paxton and Ryker leaned forward to hear better, but everyone else was too busy talking to notice the way Tinsley had paled.

“You’re here now? I’m sorry, we’re closed Sundays.”

That got Ridge’s attention and he leaned closer, too.

“Of course, Maurice. I’ll be right there,” Tinsley said, hanging up. The table was completely quiet. “They’re here with the paintings.”

“It’s the smart move. They saw the whole town running to the restaurants. They’ll know the police station is empty and the chance of someone walking off the street to come see what you have is slim to none,” Paxton told her as they both stood up. “I’m coming with you. They’ll need help bringing it into the gallery, after all.”

“I’m coming too,” Ridge said, standing up.

“No, it’d be too obvious. Tell Granger and Kord that Paxton will be in contact with them. Have them check for people surrounding the gallery. You can all walk down after lunch if Paxton texts that it’s okay. We can’t blow his case now.” Paxton looked at Tinsley and saw the command in her. Gone was the woman who’d smile and do anything to please her family and in her place was a warrior. “Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paxton said with a smirk. He saw her touch the small of her back and then relax a little. He wondered what was hidden under the little pink cardigan sweater.

They didn’t talk as they walked toward the gallery. Tinsley kept her eyes on the large van out front and Paxton tried to nonchalantly look around to see if Maurice and Murray had company with them.

“Hello, gentlemen. I’m sorry for the delay. On Sundays, everyone eats together after church. I had to hunt down my helper to carry in all the paintings you said you brought.” Tinsley smiled as if nothing was wrong. Paxton tried to keep his head down in case someone recognized him. Who knew if Trevino had handed the Myriad’s a new photo of him?

“We’re sorry to intrude on your personal time,” Maurice said smoothly. “Our grandmother has taken a turn for the worse and requires an expensive surgery that insurance won’t cover. Our older brother has asked us to sell these as quickly as possible.”

Tinsley looked at the two men sympathetically. She reached out with both hands and squeezed their hands. “Your grandmother is blessed with such good grandsons. I’ll pray for her and her surgery.”

“Thank you, Tinsley,” Murray responded. His eyes kept traveling back to Paxton. “We got this. You can go back to your lunch if you’d like.”

“Whatever is fine with me. I don’t mind helping. I know Tinsley is very concerned about damaging the art. Did you know the value of even the most famous masterpiece can fall ninety percent if it’s damaged just a tiny bit?” Paxton bullshitted. He had no idea if it were true or not, but it had the desired effect.

“Murray, why don’t you help him with the art,” Maurice suggested, looking nervously at the truck.

Tinsley unlocked the door, turned off the alarm system, and then moved to prop the front door open. “Well now, let’s see what your grandmother’s art collection is like.”

20

Tinsley’s heart was beating a mile a minute as painting after painting was brought into the gallery. They were wrapped in moving blankets and lined the far back wall three paintings deep. Some were quite large while some were no bigger than a photograph.

She took a small painting the size of a page of notebook paper and carefully laid it on the desk. She used her fingernail to peel up the edge of the plastic wrap holding the blanket around the artwork in place. Tinsley slowly unwrapped the art and then held her breath as she looked down at the two hundred-year-old painting. This wasn’t stolen from someone’s home. This artwork had a long story. One Tinsley swore she’d discover.

“This is a Vermeer,” Tinsley said with awe. “How long has it been in your family?”

“My great-grandparents bought this collection in Argentina after World War II, and it was passed down to my grandmother after their deaths in the seventies,” Maurice said, handing her a thick envelope of papers. “How much do you think it’s worth? The small Vermeer?”

Tinsley didn’t know what to say. Vermeer paintings were among the rarest pieces. Most sold for tens of millions of dollars.

“If this is the quality of work you have under the blankets, we should have no trouble getting well above any amount you require for your dear grandmother,” Tinsley said, wrapping the painting back up. “Now, let’s go over the paperwork and then I’ll get to selling.”

“We’d like this to be a private sale. My family would appreciate it if you