d5e426eccb138e04dab909926b2752c6

“Actually, I do. Apart from the emotional value, which is considerable—”

“Obviously.”

“The artist is a man named Metzgall. Jerome Metzgall.”

“Ah, the famous Jerome Metzgall,” said Iris, nodding like one who knows.

“You’ve heard of him?” asked Tex, well pleased. It was the first time anyone acknowledged what he’d known all along: that he’d made the right choice when he’d sunk a large chunk of his savings into the painting.

“Oh, of course. In our line of work it’s important to be well informed,” said Mira.

“How much did you pay for it?” asked Iris, taking a more direct approach.

Tex licked his lips, then darted a quick look in the direction of the living room door. The price he’d paid was a sore point between himself and his wife. Marge hadn’t approved of the purchase, and had told him he might as well have put their money on fire. “I bought it direct from the artist. A real bargain.” He cut another glance in the direction of the door, then lowered his voice. “He took twenty-five thousand for it. And when you know that some of Metzgall’s paintings now go for a hundred thousand on the specialized sites…” He let his words trail off, but raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Mira and Iris Johnson needed to hear no more.

“A real bargain, Dr. Poole,” said Iris. “A genuine Metzgall for that price? You are a very lucky man indeed.”

“Very lucky,” said her sister, nodding seriously.

They both openly admired the painting, and it warmed Tex’s heart to such an extent, after the distinct froideur with which his own family had welcomed his purchase, that he actually got up and asked if he could offer the ladies coffee or tea.

They both declined, however, and he sat down again.

“Now imagine a flood, Dr. Poole,” said Iris.

“Or a house fire,” suggested Mira, just throwing it out there.

“Or, God forbid, a burglary.”

“Your painting—your precious Metzgall—would be gone.”

“Poof!”

“Destroyed.”

“All of your money lost!”

“That would be terrible,” said Tex, swallowing with some difficulty as he gazed at the beloved portrait of his beloved gnome.

Iris took a sheaf of documents from her briefcase and placed them on the coffee table.“Johnson and Johnson has a solution for you, Dr. Poole.”

“A plan!” said Mira.

“For a small price you can insure your painting so you’ll never have to worry again.”

“Never have to think about that flood, that house fire—that devastating burglary.”

And as both women launched into their sales pitch, Tex found that he’d already made up his mind to take them up on their offer. They were absolutely right: why spend twenty-five thousand dollars on a painting and then cavil over a measly couple of hundred bucks for the insurance?

“Done deal,” he said finally, even before they’d finished outlining paragraph 16 of their policy and stipulating contingency 623 and exceptions 1022 through 2025.

It was only after they’d left, and Marge walked in and found the documents he’d signed with a flourish, and heaved the exaggerated sigh of the much-put-upon wife of a rabid collector, that he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

But then he looked at Big Gnome #21’s smiling face and he was strong again.

Yes, he’d done the right thing.

A real collector took out insurance.

And he was a real collector. A collector all the way.

Chapter 21

“But I’ve got nothing to do with the whole thing, Marlene—you’ve got to believe me!”

Jerry Vale had used his one phone call to call his ex-wife, and much to his surprise she’d actually picked up. Then it turned out she’d already seen the local news about his arrest, and wanted to hear from the horse’s mouth what he’d been up to this time.

“That’s what you said last time, Jer. So forgive me for not taking your word for it. Why did you do it? Stealing that poor Mr. Hodge’s drawings. You know I’m a big fan.”

“Just like I’m a big fan—I would never steal from Mort’s Molly’s Mort.”

“Oh, Jerry. You know the best thing I ever did was file for divorce. I saved myself so much trouble.”

“But baby.”

“Don’t call me baby. I’m not your baby anymore.”

“You will always be my baby, baby,” he said, suddenly feeling sentimental. It wasn’t like him to go all teary-eyed but lately, and ever since he and Johnny had started working for the Jehovah’s Witnesses, he’d been more prone to stormy emotions than usual. “Look, can you arrange a lawyer for me? I think I’m gonna need it.”

“Arrange one yourself, Jer. And next time when you decide to rob an old man of his life’s work, maybe don’t do it.” And with these harsh words, she hung up on him.

He slumped a little, and as he was escorted back to his cell he thought how unfair it was to be accused of a crime he didn’t commit. It was bad enough to be arrested for the ones he did commit, but this simply wasn’t playing fair and square.

Johnny glanced up from his metal bunk.“And? What did she say?”

“No dice,” said Jerry. “She thinks I did it.”

“Well, I’m starting to think we did it, too, Jer. Are you sure we didn’t rob those people? Maybe in our sleep or something?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, Johnny.”