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“This was my husband’s office,” Mrs. Baumgartner was explaining to her captious audience. “He was a self-made man, and this is where he conducted his business affairs and ran his empire.”

I glanced around. The walls were bedecked with portraits of a stern-faced man with a weak chin and a pronounced nose. His beady little eyes seemed to stare out at the world in perpetual wonder.

“What business was he in?” asked Odelia.

“Burt sold crockpots, but in his heart of hearts he was an inventor,” said Mrs. Baumgartner proudly. “He invented a new type of vacuum cleaner, then sold his invention to Hoover, only for them to bury his design, deeming it too revolutionary for their taste.”

“Vacuum cleaners again,” Dooley whispered.

“Yeah, they keep popping up,” I intimated with a sense of alarm.

“What was so revolutionary about his invention?” asked Odelia.

“Well, the Burt 1000 didn’t merely suck up the dust as much as obliterate it with laser beams. It zapped the dust particles into oblivion. Only problem was that the first prototype Hoover built mistook its CEO for a dust particle and zapped his nice new Brooks Brothers suit into oblivion, too. He ended up looking very silly dressed in his pink unicorn boxer shorts in front of his entire staff.” Ida shook her head. “Every great inventor suffers these minor setbacks. Just ask Thomas Edison. Or Alexander Graham Bell. But of course Burt was labeled a crackpot and his prototype was destroyed.”

“Too bad,” said Odelia. “A vacuum cleaner that zaps dust sounds like a great idea.”

“Sounds like a terrible idea to me,” said Dooley, looking panicked at the thought of being zapped by a vacuum cleaner.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the thing either,” I agreed.

“So is this where the painting hung?” asked Odelia, getting down to business.

An empty spot on the wall was a sad reminder of the theft. Ida nodded.“I know I probably shouldn’t have kept it in the apartment. But what’s the point of buying a Picasso and then putting it in a vault at the bank, never to be seen again? Burt always said art should be enjoyed, not tucked away. And I wholeheartedly agree.”

“Can you tell me what happened, exactly?” asked Odelia, taking out her notebook.

“Well, it was right here yesterday. I know because I dusted it and adjusted one of the lights.” She gestured to the LED lamp that was placed to provide the Picasso with favorable lighting. “And then when I got up this morning it was gone.”

“And you didn’t hear anything?”

“Nothing! Though I have to say I’m a sound sleeper. I take ZzleepIt every night before going to bed, and of course I sleep with noise-canceling headphones, a sleeping mask and a sleep apnea device. So even if the burglars made a lot of noise, I wouldn’t have heard them.” She shivered. “But just imagine—they could have been in my room—looked at me while I was sleeping. And I didn’t even know!”

“And nothing else was stolen?” asked Odelia. “Apart from your… Picasso?”

The slight pause indicated she wasn’t convinced Mrs. Baumgartner’s Picasso was an actual Picasso. Ida had picked up on the pause, too, for her brow furrowed and her expression darkened. “You don’t believe me, do you? Nobody does. They all think Burt was hoodwinked when he got his Picasso. Well, I’ll have you know that whenhe was still with us he had an expert come in to look at the painting, and the expert—an actual professor from Italy—ascertained that it was genuine. And worth a small fortune.”

Odelia nodded and frowned as she glanced around.“Who knew about your Picasso, Mrs. Baumgartner?”

“Oh, plenty of people. Over the years I must have told all of my friends, and of course the Picasso was the pride of Burt’s collection, so whenever we entertained he always made sure he showed it off to our guests.”

“His collection? You mean you have more paintings?”

“Oh, yes, I do. Though nothing comes close to Burt’s Picasso, of course.”

“Where are your other paintings?”

“Unfortunately I had to sell them off. Burt was a great success in life—he was top Crockpot salesman of the year three years in a row, so that will tell you something. But after he died I unfortunately discovered my dear husband possessed a flaw in the form of a gambling addiction. Turns out heleft me nothing but a pile of debts. So I had to sell off the entire collection to pay off those debts.” She gazed lovingly at the portrait of Burt. “I don’t blame him, though. The man was a genius. And as we all know, with a brain that size something has to give, and with Burt it was the ponies, unfortunately.”

As we left the house, and returned to the car, Dooley made an interesting suggestion.“I think I know what happened, Max.”

“Oh?” I said, intrigued.

“I think Burt Baumgartner kept a prototype of his revolutionary vacuum cleaner, and last night it malfunctioned and zapped his Picasso into oblivion, mistaking it for a dust bunny.”

I smiled.“You just might be right, Dooley,” I said. “In fact you may just have cracked the case.”

His excited smile was my reward.

Chapter 13