Gabriel turned the painting over. Nothing was written on the back that would give any indication as to how it had ended up here.

Lia seemed to read his mind. “It belonged to my grandmother. I still have no idea how she got it.”

“Huh.” Gabriel righted the painting.

“And you’re sure the name Estelle means nothing to you? Estelle Allard?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I called my father before I left, and he hadn’t heard the name either. He’s going to ask my grandfather at his first opportunity.”

“He’s still alive? The William who painted this?”

“Yes. And ninety-eight years might have taken their toll physically, but they have done nothing to dull his mind. Perhaps he will have an answer.” He looked up at her. “I assume Estelle Allard was your grandmother?”

“Yes. She was the same age when she passed away. Ninety-eight.”

“Were you close with her?”

Lia exhaled and played with a small oval pendant that hung at her throat. The three tiny red stones set into the enameled surface glittered as she twisted it. “I thought so. I mean, as close as one could get to a woman who wasn’t much of a people person…” She trailed off, suddenly looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I thought I knew her. But now, it seems I didn’t know her at all.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“I’m sorry. Never mind my ramblings. Do you think your family would like the painting returned?” she asked. “Perhaps it has some sentimental value?”

“I appreciate the gesture, but this obviously belonged to your grandmother. It is yours to do with as you wish.” He handed the little landscape back to her, wondering how best to broach the subject of the nude painting. Because he was damned if he was leaving here without taking a good look at it. “May I ask how you found me?”

“Your website.” Intelligent hazel eyes considered him. “You’re an art appraiser.”

“Yes. For over a decade. I also specialize in restoration work.” If she had read his website, she would know that too.

“Of paintings,” she confirmed. “Early modernist works are your specialty.”

“Yes. But I have experience with works dating from the fifteenth century onward. I also do mosaics and murals, though I usually recommend a specialist to my clients for more valuable pieces. I know enough to know what I don’t know.”

“Mmm. Tell me about your clients.”

Gabriel was suddenly revising his original assessment of what this woman might or might not know about art. Because this conversation was starting to sound less like a conversation and more and more like an interview.

“Insurance agencies. Auction houses. Museums.” He crossed his arms. “Do you wish to call any of them for a reference?” he asked dryly.

She clasped her hands in front of her and looked down. “I, um, kind of already did.”