She was quiet while she read it. She pored over it slowly, then looked up and said, "1933?"

I nodded. "I think it goes beyond our grandfathers. My guess is we're talking great-grandfathers, or at least my great-grandfather."

"Do you have any guess about the painting? What it means and what might have happened to it?"

"I have no knowledge of the painting. I do know what happened to it. It was loaned to a small-town art gallery. What happened after that, I have no idea."

I could tell that Sabrina knew I was holding back some information, but she was obviously smart enough to know that until I trusted her, I couldn't show all my cards.

"I have some time on my hands," I said, "so I thought I'd look into it. I'll be happy to let you know what I find."

She was quiet for a minute, then said, "I have a proposition for you. I'm here for another two days, and I could easily extend it. How about if I help?" she asked.

I cocked my head to the side in a "why would you want to" gesture.

She hesitated. "This is going to sound kind of egotistical, and I really don't mean it to, but you've never heard of me, have you?"

"Uh…" I did it again.

"I didn't think so. It's kind of refreshing, actually. It's the other reason I couldn't possibly be working with Izzy on this, and one of the many reasons I steered as clear from her as I could. I have a reputation to think of. I'm a bestselling mystery writer. My fans wouldn't appreciate it if I was involved in something shady."

Sabrina Spencer! It just showed how discombobulated I was.

"I'm sorry. Yes, I have heard of you. I'm sorry to say that I haven't read any of your books though, but I will remedy that immediately."

She flashed a very genuine smile.

"No, I'm sorry. I sound so full of myself when I say something like that, but it was important for you to know that, because I don't just write mysteries, I live for mysteries. This one hits close to home because I have an actual connection to it. Del, we're both involved in this. You've already dealt with three burglaries and I lost my sister, regardless of how I felt about her. Beyond that though, our families seem to be involved with each other going back two or three generations. How much more mysterious could this get?"

She was quickly selling me on the idea, but I had to note, "Technically, it was Izzy's family. You didn't have the same father."

"You're right. It's not my family by blood, but that differentiation was never made when I was a kid—except by Izzy when she was being especially mean. My adopted father accepted me as one of his own. That makes it my family and my business. How about it? Another hand, or another pair of eyes, might make a difference."