“Pug liked to surprise me.” She took another tissue and blew her nose. “He could keep a secret better than anyone. If only I’d moved north last year, but I kept saying I wasn’t ready. Why was I so stupid? Why did I think work was more important than spending time with my husband?”

Just then, more people came into the room. Sylvia blew her nose one last time, thanked me for coming, and got up to speak to the newcomers.

I stood, too, thinking furiously.

Sylvia didn’t know about the sculpture. Had Pug actually bought it? Or had he only considered a purchase? And if he had bought it, had he been killed because he got in the way of a thief? How much could these sculptures be worth, anyway?

I had no idea, but I knew how to find out.

Chapter 7

Russell “Cade” McCade and his wife, Barb, sat across from me at Corner Coffee. It was Saturday morning, and they’d just returned to Michigan after spending the winter in Arizona. Two things made them stand out from the other coffee shop patrons; their tanned skin contrasted sharply with everyone else’s white faces, and their heavy parkas didn’t come even close to the spring coats everyone else was wearing.

I’d made fun of them, of course, for thinking that near-forty-degree temperatures meant hauling out winter gear, and received baleful looks and dire warnings of things that would happen when I got to be their age.

Since the McCades were about ten years younger than my parents, who never wore winter coats unless it got below freezing, I ignored their cautionary tales and asked what they knew about sculpture in general, and Vittorio Conti in particular.

“Nothing,” Cade said promptly. “I know as much about sculpture as I do about the aerodynamics of jet design.”

I put my coffee mug down. “But you’re an artist.” An internationally famous one, to boot. How could he not know?

He sighed heavily. “I smear acrylic paint on canvas, my girl. Different world entirely. Do you know anything about running a bookstore? Hah, I see from that dazed expression that you don’t. Same principle.”

“Vittorio Conti is an acquired taste,” Barb said.

Cade’s eyebrows went up. “Good heavens, woman. Don’t tell me you’ve gone out and become a sculpture fanatic when my back was turned.”

“Not yet, but you never know.” She smiled at her husband of many years. “Minnie, if you want to learn about sculpture, Gallery 45.3 carries more than anyone else in the area. I’d talk to them.”