Page 98 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Miss Dawson’s obituary. Apparently, it ran in the Tribune. It mentioned the painting series and my gallery.’

Her parents must have run the obit. I guess they would’ve known about her art pieces through Liam’s PI reports.

‘So some collectors are calling?’

‘A couple from New York. One buyer who represents a very prestigious client in London. Another from Singapore. We’re talking seven-figure interest. I realize both you and Mr Porter had interest in purchasing the piece …’

Ugh. Of course I had ‘interest.’ But not for seven figures.

‘Yeah, it sounds like it’s a little out of my ballpark at the moment.’

‘Well, like I said, I’m not selling until my legal ducks are in a row. But I promised to keep you apprised, and I will continue to do so. I’d also like to discuss purchasing the first painting back from Mr Porter – for a fair market price, of course. I’d love to place all three with a single collector.’

‘You’ll have to talk to him about that,’ I say.

‘Of course, I’ll discuss it with him,’ says Simon. ‘I merely want to keep you in the loop, as promised.’

What a whirlwind. Of course it’s really incredible that Zoe’s paintings have such big interest. She’d be freaking thrilled. This is life-changing kind of stuff. But she isn’t here to enjoy her success. And isn’t that how it is? Artists often seem to get big after they’re dead.

‘Well … thanks for keeping me posted,’ I say, turning back to the window, which I’ve been gazing out without really seeing. And then, something snags.

I’d love to place all three with a single collector.

‘You mean both,’ I add quickly, before he can hang up.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You mean you’d like to place both paintings with a single collector. Life, Skin. The third and fourth paintings were never completed, right?’

I wait. I can hear Simon licking his lips.

‘Yes. I was just about to tell you … A third painting has appeared.’

‘What? How?’

‘It showed up at the back door again, just like the other one. Except this one wasn’t wrapped. I reviewed the footage and alerted the authorities.’

‘Was it the same guy?’

‘It appears so. The police are looking into it.’

‘And you said this time the painting wasn’t wrapped?’

‘Correct. And for good reason.’ He makes an incredulous chuckle of disbelief. ‘The paint is still wet.’

I’m literally speechless for one, two, three seconds. Then I say,

‘When can I come?’

‘I open the gallery at nine tomorrow.’

‘I’ll be there.’

I send Liam one final text before going to bed. Meet me at the gallery tomorrow – another painting showed up. Text me back so I know you’re not dead. I add a laughing emoji, then backspace it, then add it again.

I hit send.

Chapter Thirty-three