“Well, this might make it easier for you to pick and choose your jobs. You know that if this proves to be an authentic Munch, and you wish to sell, it’ll be worth a fortune.” He ran a finger along the edge of the frame.

“It might not be mine to sell.” Her words were quiet. “And if that’s the case, I want it returned to its rightful owner.”

“Let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it,” Gabriel said, straightening. “It’s strange though,” he mused, his eyes lingering on the canvas.

“What is?”

“That this is the only piece composed by an Expressionist. It certainly doesn’t fit with the rest of the collection in the apartment.” He turned back to her. “You didn’t find any others like this?”

Lia lifted her hands helplessly. “No.”

He turned in a slow circle. “There was no art in this room?”

“Not the painted kind. But there was an obscene amount of vintage couture clothing. Most of which I’ve donated to the Palais Galliera and the Museum of Decorative Arts.” She gestured at the arched entrance beside the wardrobe. “That dressing room was overflowing.”

Gabriel left the painting and ducked into the tiny space. “Mmm.”

“What does ‘mmm’ mean?” Lia followed him and stopped at the opening.

Gabriel was peering at the walls of the now-empty dressing room. “Artists like Munch were labeled as degenerate by the Nazis. Which didn’t prevent some Nazis from stealing their work, of course, but most works were either auctioned internationally or destroyed. Over the years, I’ve personally appraised and restored a half-dozen paintings that were found hidden from the Nazis in attics and cellars and barns.” He had his phone out now and was running the beam of the flashlight toward the back.

Lia frowned. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting what she thought he was. “I don’t have an attic or cellar or barn.”

“No. But you have an oddly short dressing room.”

“What?”

“This dressing room’s back wall is not plaster. It’s painted wood.”

“So?”

“Come here.” Without turning, he gestured for her to join him.

Lia did as he asked. He was examining a gap between the floor and the back wall.

“This wall was added,” he said. He ran his light up the wall to reveal a seam that divided the back wall into two equal panels. “I don’t know when, but it’s not original.”

“You’re seriously suggesting that there’s a hidden space behind this wall?”

“It’s likely.” He said it like she had simply asked him if he thought it might rain later on.

“For what?” she asked incredulously.

“I don’t know. Would you like to find out?”

“Um.”