"You gained all this in prison," I began. "Do you think there was any part of yourself that you lost while there?" I asked.

"There was nothing to lose, because I hadn't yet found myself. I was a young bride dominated by a very powerful man. I had already lost my innocence because of him and I didn't yet have an identity. No, what I lost was time, the time to find myself like a normal person would. I ended up finding the dark side of myself, something I'm not especially proud of. But I really didn't have any choice."

And now I knew. She was simply a lost soul trying hard to find her way.

I had to learn to kill. She had to learn to trust. I think I had the easier part of the deal.

Chapter 17

We were quiet for a while, both of us reflecting on our life experiences—the heartaches, the missed opportunities, and the strange path that led us to each other.

"This is exciting, don't you think?" Sabrina said, breaking the silence.

Okay, so it was only me.

"Yeah, I guess," I answered. "A question. Assuming we find the painting, will there be enough clues to lead us to the treasure?"

"I guess we take it one step at a time. We find Russ Simpson and hope he has it."

"And hope he gives it to us. Sounds like he's kind of an asshole."

"You've got the original slip. He has to give it to you. If I have to, I'll call my agent. He's also a lawyer."

"The slick big-city lawyer calls the bumpkin from Wahoo?" I asked. "That should be fun."

Not even close.

*****

Russ Simpson was a weasel. A smart weasel. The kind of weasel lawyers hate. Needless to say, things didn't go well.

Wahoo, stuck in the middle of nowhere, wasn't exactly a metropolis, but it seemed to be thriving nonetheless. My travel agent passenger, reading from Wikipedia, informed me that Wahoo, once a small farming town, had become a bedroom community of Omaha. It was clean and well-cared for, with a strange combination of the old and the new. The town even once had a college. Thankfully, that was about all she could tell me about it.

Russ Simpson lived in one of the newer neighborhoods. It was a rather plain house, but there was something about it that hinted at money. Maybe it was the Jaguar parked in the driveway.

We pulled up to the curb and sat for a minute, re-evaluating our tactics. The original plan called for politeness followed by intimidation, if he wasn't accommodating. Now we didn't exactly know where we would go with it.

"I guess all we can do is ask," said Sabrina.

"Based on the description we heard, I can't picture that going well," I said, "but we can try."

We got out of the car and walked up the path, the grass on each side meticulously landscaped. We rang the bell. From inside the house we heard the chimes of Big Ben informing the Lord of the manor that he had visitors. We had looked him up online and it didn't seem that he was married.