“Quoi?”

“Nothing,” I said, though I could have sworn I’d heard a baby cry, then the sound of a hammer or pliers wrenching something apart. “Are there carpenters working today?”

The guards said no.

I gazed at the painting. A flush of heat rippled my body. A moment later, my vision blurred, and the room began to spin.

“Monsieur, ça va?” the old guard asked, the younger one moving quickly, a hand at my back.

I wiped sweat off my brow and tried to find my balance as I began to sway and tip.

Outside, I gulped in air as if a gag had been pulled from my mouth. The guard had caught me before I fell but I was still feeling off-kilter. I needed a cup of coffee, something to settle my nerves. Though it wasn’t coffee I wanted, I knew that. I fished the bag of Jolly Ranchers out of my pocket, only two left. Popped both of the sweet alcohol substitutes into my mouth. The candy helped my blood sugar but not my frustration.

Had I really expected to find a clue in the painting?

I glanced back at the Louvre, the graveyard, quiet and locked up with its great art and all the stories behind them.

Surely, over the years, dozens of conservators had inspected the famous painting after my great-grandfather had returned it. If there had been something off, wouldn’t they have found it, reported it?

Or would they?

I considered the question. If someone had reported an irregularity in the painting, would the museum have divulged it? As the curator had just pointed out, the painting was the Louvre’s star attraction. Could they afford to admit it was a forgery? Would millions of tourists line up to see a copy? It was all about authenticity, wasn’t it? If the painting was a forgery, people might just as well stay home and check out the image on their computers.

54

He sees the red dot move out of the Louvre, but he is not ready to leave the café, moments of comfort and relaxation such a rarity. He takes a bite of croissant, a sip of coffee, and sits back. Why rush? He can watch where the American is going from here. He will catch up to him later, find out what he has learned at the museum, and hopefully get the answers they are both looking for.

55

I could not stop thinking about the Mona Lisa, the way it had drawn me in, overwhelmed me. It stayed in my mind as I walked through the Marais, stopped at the Place des Vosges, one of the oldest squares in Paris and considered one of the most beautiful with its large garden, central fountain, and buildings of redbrick inlaid with strips of stone. A place I’d like to live though could never afford. I had a momentary fantasy of me and Alex in one of these gorgeous homes, the idea that this woman who kept me almost as off-balance as I’d just felt in the Louvre would one day share a house with me improbable if not impossible, and yet I enjoyed the daydream.