“Perhaps,” Hal said. “But I doubt we’ll ever know for certain. What we do know is that, in spite of having liquid assets in the seven-figure range and less-liquid assets of even more value, Skyler Ellison worked for little more than minimum wage in a Chilson art gallery, lived in a marginal upstairs apartment, and drove a vehicle with bald tires and no muffler. Yet . . .”

He paused and tilted his head slightly. “Yet in Mr. Ellison’s apartment, we found the sculpture Mr. Breece had sold to Mr. Mattock, along with seven other Conti sculptures, ranging in market value from the mid–five figures to mid–six.”

Doing math so early on a Saturday morning was making my head hurt. “Up in that ratty apartment, Skyler had sculptures worth more than a million dollars?”

“Yes,” Hal said. “And who they’ll end up with is beyond my pay grade.” He flipped through his stack of papers again. “Now, about Mr. Ian Breece, who was also at the park last night.”

“Yeah, that messed me up.” Ryan shook his head. “For a while I thought maybe they killed Pug together.”

Hal tapped the paper that was now on top. “While Mr. Breece was, and is, in serious financial difficulties, his motives regarding the Conti were straightforward. He and his wife, Felicia, had been given a Conti sculpture as a wedding gift. It was from her parents, but neither Felicia nor Ian cared for it. They decided to sell it, but they also didn’t want to hurt her parents’ feelings, so Ian sold it quietly, to Pug Mattock, after getting an approximate cost from Mr. Ellison at the art gallery.”

So simple, once you knew.

“You said you don’t know what’s happening to the Contis. What about the Valera sculpture? And the Conti that Skyler stole from Pug?” I asked. “He bought it from Ian. By rights it belongs to Sylvia.”

Hal looked at his notes. “Let me clarify. I was speaking about the Contis outside of those two. They are being processed as we speak and will be returned to their owners today.”

I peered at the detective. He’d sounded content. Pleased, even. But maybe I was projecting my feelings onto him. I sent Sylvia a wish that she’d find comfort, if not in the lakeside cottage, then wherever she could. And if Mr. Valera didn’t take their sculpture so his sister could see it, I’d do it myself.

“One question,” Rafe said. “Why was Ian at the park last night?”

Ash grinned. “You should know. You’re the one who posted the ad on that blog.”

“Mr. Breece,” Hal said, “was there for the reason he stated at the time. To get a deal on a Conti. He’d hoped to offer a low price to someone who didn’t know any better, then turn around and sell it at a large enough profit to shore up his farm’s finances.”