"Izzy didn't make the connection in her notes," I said, "but my guess is that the eleventh painting was some sort of mob deal. Maybe they had it shipped to the museum and let Tony—who was probably trying to prove his worth—get it for them. Using old friends Mikey and Bruce to help him, Tony did the heist."

"And for whatever reason, they stole more than they went in for," added Sabrina, "which probably created a lot more publicity than the one alone would have. So Tony's reputation was on the line. As long as Mikey laid low with the other ten paintings, everything was fine. But the minute he tried to ransom them, Tony had to shut him up."

"And then Bruce took off with the one they really wanted," I said. "The question is, why wasn't it turned over to the mob right after the heist? Did they need to give it some time for the hubbub to die down?"

"Hubbub?"

"Yeah. You know. Confusion. Uproar."

"I know what it means," she said with a laugh. "I'm just not sure if anyone has used that word in sixty years. You're really getting into this time period, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, anyway," I said, "assuming that's why Bruce had the painting, he threw a monkey wrench…"

"Wow, you are really coming up with the oldies today. Monkey wrench?"

"Hey, people still use that expression."

"Okay, continue," she said, still laughing.

"He screwed up—better?"—she nodded her approval—"their plans by hiding the painting."

"I wonder if he decided that after Mikey was killed," suggested Sabrina. "He was probably really scared that he would be next."

"And maybe he felt that if he hid it, it would be his insurance policy. As long as he was the only one who knew where it was, they wouldn't kill him."

"Stupid," said Sabrina.

"Hey, he was a Honeycutt. What can I say?"

"Which brings up the question: you said he was crushed by some beer barrels that fell off a truck. Do you think it was an accident?"

"Not anymore. What do you want to bet Tony killed him and made it look like an accident?"

"I think that's exactly what happened." She looked through some more notes. "It says Tony died a few years later, but it doesn't say how."

"Well," I offered, "He was in a dangerous business. It could have happened any number of ways."

"There's another name," I said. "In the letter I found in the book, he mentions a John. Where does he fit in?"

There was no answer to that one, so we continued looking through the material.

"You know," said Sabrina, "We're making a lot of assumptions here based on sketchy information. You realize we could be totally wrong."

"I wouldn't be surprised, but I suppose we have to start somewhere."

Sabrina nodded. "So our cast of characters includes your great-grandfather Bruce, and his cohorts Tony, Mikey, and maybe some guy named John. Then the next generation includes your grandfather and mine. Then it kind of skips a generation, other than your father being the keeper of the book. Which leads us to our generation: You and me—two of the most clueless individuals I've ever seen, I must say—Izzy, and Mikey's great-grandson, who sounds like he wants nothing to do with this. Who else?"