The Longest Yard Sale Read Online Free

a couple of hours using Carol’s unique teaching method. Carol led me to an easel holding a blank sixteen-by-twenty canvas.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSomeone took my painting,” she said, pointing at the easel. A large canvas tarp sat crumpled on the floor beside it. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “Right before I called you, I took the tarp off. The blank canvas was there, and my painting was gone.”
    â€œOh, no. Did they take anything else?”
    I looked around. She’d lined most of the walls with pegboard. Old frames and assorted canvases hung in neat rows. A table was covered with a neat array of paints, arranged by color. Brushes stood in brightly flowered vintage biscuit tins. A chaise lounge sat in one corner with a stack of art books beside it. The room smelled like turpentine and paint.
    At the back of the studio, vintage curtains we’d found at a garage sale divided the working area from a small storage space and a door that led to the alley.
    â€œNo, just the painting.”
    â€œNothing else is missing? No money?”
    Carol shook her head. “It’s worse than money. It’s a catastrophe.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s a copy of the Patrick West painting at the library.” She pointed to a computer monitor next to the easel. The picture of a recently fought battle glowed with its bright reds and blues contrasting with ashen faces, gray stone walls, and rolling spring fields.
    â€œYou were copying Battled ?” Battled was Ellington’s beloved painting by native son and Revolutionary War hero Patrick West. He’d first sketched a drawing at the end of the first day of the Revolutionary War. After surviving the war, West had used the sketch and brought the scene to life in an oil painting that depicted the anguish and triumph as the colonials chased the British soldiers from Concord back to Boston. He’d gone on to have a highly successful career as an artist. Some of his works hung in the National Gallery of Art.
    â€œYes. It was done—except it needed to finish drying. Here, I took some pictures of it.” Carol clicked on the keyboard. Her hand shook as she scrolled through pictures of the painting in various stages.
    I was shocked. I’d known Carol was talented, but only an expert would be able to tell that this was a copy. “It’s beautiful. Was it for you?”
    â€œNo, a client.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThat’s not the issue. I have three more weeks before my client needs it, but I’m sure I can recreate it in that amount of time.”
    It worried me that Carol didn’t answer my question about her client. “When did you realize it was missing?”
    â€œJust before I called. I’d draped the canvas over it last night because I knew we’d be busy today, and I didn’t want anyone to see it.”
    When Carol had painted a painting for me she’d done the same thing. She didn’t like people to see her work in progress.
    â€œSo it could have disappeared anytime between last night and now?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid you call the police?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you want me to call CJ?” I asked. Being close to the chief of police came in handy on occasion.
    Carol took a shaky breath and thought for a moment. “No. It’s okay. You know that copying paintings is a little shady. As long as it’s for use in a private home it’s not so bad. I was planning to sign it after the paint dried.”
    â€œIs there any chance Olivia moved it?” Olivia was Carol’s new assistant, an art student who wasn’t all that reliable. Carol had called me more than once to help out when Olivia was a no-show.
    â€œI did a quick search, but will you help me look again? Maybe I somehow overlooked it.”
    â€œSure.” We started in the public space, going through cupboards and looking in corners.