Annie leaned into the middle of the table. Victor obliged. “We need to know if Dr. Corbett has been in contact with Christie’s, and if so, what for?”

Victor leaned in closer. “Yes. Arrangements have been made for him to acquire a Chagall that is in private hands. The change of ownership is being handled by us at the request of the owner. It is one of the recovered pieces the Nazis stole.”

“But shouldn’t that go back to the country of origin?” Myra asked.

“That’s been an ongoing issue for years,” Victor explained. “France, Germany, the Netherlands, and several other countries are battling with the survivors of families who originally owned the art before it was taken from them.”

“I recall reading an article in the New York Times about several Rembrandts that are in question,” Annie said.

“Yes, it’s a sticky situation. However, the piece we have is being sold by the person who found it, in an attic, of all places. Such luck, eh? And it’s a private sale, not an auction.”

“Tell us more about Corbett and this painting,” Myra pushed.

“Corbett has already set up an account. He apparently reached an agreement with the owner, who wishes to remain anonymous, to purchase it for one million dollars. Then he came to us and asked that we broker the transaction. We, of course, were happy to do so. Commissions are always welcome, you know.”

“Interesting. Some might say it’s worth twenty million,” Myra commented.

“And that is what makes the art world so mysterious. Whatever the bidder is willing to pay. But in this case, it’s not an auction we’re talking about.” Victor clapped his hands. “Ta-da!”

“When is this sale taking place?” Annie asked anxiously.

“Sometime next week. It will be conducted over the phone.” Victor sighed.

Myra and Annie looked at each other and grinned. Perfect timing.

“Then what happens, as far as taking possession?” Myra asked.

“The successful bidder, or buyer in this case, makes arrangements for security and transportation.”

“What if the person is not ready to take possession? What do you do with it?” Myra asked slyly.

“In this case, we do not actually have the painting on the premises. It’s at a holding facility, awaiting international clearance, customs, and all.”

The wheels were spinning in the women’s heads. They could barely get through the rest of their lunch. Lots more idle chatter ensued, but Annie’s knee was bobbing up and down under the table. These boots were made for walk-in’. . . , she said to herself, chuckling.

“Victor darling, this was a wonderful treat to see you.”

“For you, anything.” Victor embraced Annie, then Myra, and gave a hug to Charlotte.

Victor headed downtown as the women made their way east to their hotel. Annie was practically jogging and was dodging oncoming pedestrians, dogs, and bicycles. Charlotte could hardly keep up.

“Ladies! Please! Slow down!”