“Yeah, that’s my hunch too, but good investigating means we need more than a hunch. So far, this note is our only evidence.”

“Do you think the thief might strike again?” I asked in a low voice.

“Art thieves are an unusual type of criminal. They have to know a lot about the piece they’re stealing and who might want to buy it. Otherwise, the stolen work is practically worthless,” said Officer Gutierrez. “If it were me, I’d want to get the biggest bang for my buck. I don’t think the thief will stop at just one statue.”

“Hmm … seems to me like their best chance for a second theft would be during the Duchess’s party, while everyone is distracted,” I said.

“Exactly. Which is why I need to notify the Duchess ASAP. Excuse me, Nancy.”

Officer Gutierrez dialed a number on her cell, put the phone to her ear, and stepped through the gallery doors. I heard voices coming around the corner, a man and a woman, and it sounded like they were arguing. I reassumed my casual pose against the wall and pretended to be absorbed in my phone screen.

“The Duchess’s party is already the talk of the town. A scandal will be the perfect way to make sure everyone shows up. No matter what happens at the party, we’ll be talking about it for years,” said the man’s voice. It sounded like Sven.

The voices came closer and I heard Bess reply, her usually melodious voice now taut with frustration.

“How am I supposed to know how to act when I don’t know what you’re going to do next?”

“You have to trust me. Part two is the pièce de résistance.”

The two of them turned the corner. “Oh, look. Nancy’s still here,” said Bess, coming over to me. Sven hung back, scowling. “Mind if I catch a ride home? I’ve had enough art for one day.”

“Sure,” I replied.

Sven gave Bess a curt nod and said, “Rehearsal tomorrow at three.” He turned back toward the studio entrance without saying goodbye.

Bess sighed, half-dreamy, half-annoyed.

CHAPTER FOUR Artsy Characters

WE MADE OUR WAY THROUGH the parking lot toward my trusty blue hybrid. By this time, most everyone had left the gallery. The River Heights folks were probably heading home for dinner, while the city people went back to their bright lights and fancy restaurants. We passed a sleek gold convertible with a gigantic red rose airbrushed along the driver’s side. I wondered who it belonged to. Maybe Angelica Velvet? Just beyond the convertible, I saw two people sitting on the hood of a beat-up red truck, their heads bent close in conversation. The setting sun was in my eyes, so I couldn’t make out their faces. As we passed, I heard one of them say the word “Shammas.” Sven had mentioned that name too.

Looking back over my shoulder, I could see the speaker’s face: Diana Yip. She had changed out of her furry costume into a pair of paint-splattered overalls and a sweatshirt. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she wasn’t crying anymore. Her companion was the young man in the green woolen cape—the one Bess thought was cute. I pulled Bess around to the other side of an old VW van nearby and held my finger to my lips.