If what Beverly had heard was true and Angelica was selling forged paintings, that made her someone worth keeping my eye on. She knew something about that missing statue. I was sure of it. Maybe the possibility of extra publicity around her gallery might be enough to convince her to make the statue disappear. …

CHAPTER SEVEN The Blank Wall

GATHERING MY SKIRTS, I HALF walked, half skipped through the marble foyer, past two stern suits of armor and a row of potted topiaries, into the main hallway, which doubled as an enormous gallery. The Duchess’s red-jacketed staff flitted through the crowd with trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of sparkling water on silver platters. More guests streamed in behind me, and the flow of the crowd carried me along the impossibly high-ceilinged hallway, past a marble staircase, and into a grand ballroom.

Everywhere I looked, the walls were cluttered with painting after painting in various styles, and they seemed to be arranged by historical era: first came gold-painted religious icons inscribed with Cyrillic letters and African masks carved from dark wood, then neat geometrical compositions of Greek philosophers in the forum and Islamic scientists in turbans making measurements with sextants and compasses, then courtly scenes of noblewomen in furs, foggy Japanese mountaintops done in ink washes, and ceremonial cloths printed with intricate patterns. Off to my right was a grand marble staircase flanked by gigantic marble urns stuffed with white roses, and two carved benches with red velvet cushions. George and Hannah were sitting on the bench to the left of the staircase, gazing up at the white marble wall.

I snuck up behind them and leaned very close to George’s ear. She didn’t notice me. They were both totally engrossed in looking at the perfectly blank wall ahead of them. George’s brow furrowed the way it did when she was thinking hard about something.

“Whatcha looking at?” I said in my goofiest voice. George jumped to her feet. Hannah let out a little “Oh!” of surprise.

“Jeez, Nancy, are you trying to give us heart attacks? We’re just trying to have a quiet moment in the presence of great art over here.”

“Uh … am I missing something? You two are looking at an empty wall, right?”

“It’s empty now, yes. But I don’t think that’s always true,” said George. “I mean, why else would the Duchess have these two benches here? They’re turned to face … something.”

“Whatever usually hangs here must be the Duchess’s favorite paintings,” said Hannah. “I don’t see anything else with its own bench. She probably sits here all the time, just looking at them.”

Suddenly I remembered my conversation with Dad about his visit to the Strickland mansion. He’d said the two portraits he was so obsessed with hung next to the Duchess’s staircase. Was that what was missing? Why would the Duchess remove them, especially when she had invited everyone to her house for a celebration of art? Hiding paintings wasn’t very celebratory.