Russ Simpson opened the door.

He might have been a weasel, personality-wise, but appearance-wise he was a bull. Well over six feet, he had a massive upper body and a thin waist. A large ring in his nose would have completed the bull image. But no ring. He was dressed casually—not jeans and a ratty t-shirt, like I would wear, but country club casual. The type of casual that looks good but couldn't possibly be comfortable.

"Amway? Jehovah's Witnesses? Either way, don't want any." His condescension was almost withering. If I had been selling something, I would have felt like slinking away. He started to close the door in our faces. I noticed though that gave Sabrina more than a cursory look.

"Mr. Simpson," Sabrina quickly said. "We're not selling anything. We were given your name by your aunt and uncle in Fairfield."

That stopped the door from closing, but not for long. We were going to have to get it out quickly. If he felt any of the same feelings for them that they felt for him, it was going to be a short conversation.

I knew what he was thinking. Could there possibly be anything in it for him?

"One of them dying?"

"Not that we're aware of," I answered.

Okay, so he wasn't inheriting anything.

"Then I can't imagine what we'd have to talk about." The door was inching closed again.

"It has to do with a painting from your great-grandfather's gallery."

The door not only stopped closing, but actually reversed direction slightly. His radar was up.

"What about it?"

"Can we come in?" asked Sabrina.

He hadn't taken his eyes off her, the lust apparent. It wasn't enough though.

"We can talk out here."

We had no choice but to lay it out for him. We kept it simple though—old family quest, emotional value, and all that. He didn't buy it, and I can't say I blamed him. I wouldn't have believed me either.

"So who are you?"

I gave him my name and was about to introduce Sabrina, when she said, "Patty Worth. I'm Del's girlfriend. Nice to meet you."

Of course. If he knew he was dealing with someone famous, it would just kick up the ante.

"My family has been looking for this painting for decades," I explained. "The artist saved my great-grandfather's life, and has had almost folk-hero status in our family. It would be so important for us to get it back. Patty's been helping me track it down. I can't believe we might have finally found it." I tried to say it with an innocent wide-eyed enthusiasm. I doubt that it worked.

Didn't even come close.

"I've never heard such bullshit in all my life. That's the best you could do?"

"It's the truth," I said weakly. God, I was terrible at this.

"Uh huh. So assuming I even have this painting, what's in it for me?"

I looked at Sabrina for help. I really had no idea what to do at this point.