“That was my reaction, but while I was standing there, she pulled the folder and pointed out the note she’d entered at the time. She even showed me the woman’s business card.”

Solana focused on the information with a curious sense of detachment. “Woman?”

“It wasn’t a name I’d seen before and I can’t remember it now, but I don’t like the idea of someone asking personal questions about me.”

“I have to go. There’s someone at the door. I’ll call you later.”

Solana hung up. She could feel the heat climb her frame like a hot flash. What alarmed Solana was the fact that the young woman from next door was prying into matters that were none of her concern. The revelation was deeply disturbing, but she couldn’t stop and worry about that now. She had other business to take care of. She’d set up an appointment at an art gallery, where she was hoping to off-load the paintings she’d found when she first came to work. She knew nothing about art, but the frames were handsome, and she believed they would bring in a tidy sum. She’d gone through the yellow pages and selected five or six galleries in the fancy-pants part of town. As soon as Tiny helped her load the paintings in the trunk of her car, she’d take off, leaving him to babysit Mr. Vronsky while she was out.

She left the freeway and took the Old Coast Road, which ran through the part of Montebello known as the Lower Village. There was nothing remotely village-like about the area. It was all high-end retail businesses: custom clothing, interior design shops, architects’ offices, real estate offices with color photographs of ten-to fifteen-million-dollar homes in the window. She spotted the gallery in the middle of a line of stores. Parking was at a premium and she circled the block twice before she found a space. She opened the trunk of the convertible and took out two of the six paintings she’d brought. On both, the frames were ornate and she was sure the gold leaf was real.

The gallery itself was plain, long and narrow, no carpet, no furniture except for an expensive antique table with a chair on each side. The lighting was good, calling attention to the thirty or so paintings hung along the walls. Some looked no better than the two she’d carried in.

The woman at the desk looked up with a pleasant smile. “You must be Ms. Tasinato. I’m Carys Mumford. How are you today?”

Solana said, “Fine. I have an appointment with the owner to talk about some paintings I want to sell.”

“I’m the owner. Won’t you have a seat?”

Solana was slightly embarrassed by the error she’d made, but how was she to know someone so young and attractive would own a ritzy place like this? She’d expected a man, someone older and snooty and easy to manipulate. Awkwardly, she set the paintings down, wondering how to proceed.

Ms. Mumford got up and came around the table, saying, “Mind if I have a look?”

“Please.”

She picked up the larger of the two paintings and carried it across the room. She leaned it against the wall, then returned for the second painting, which she placed beside it. Solana watched the woman’s expression change. She couldn’t decipher the woman’s reaction and she felt a moment of uneasiness. The paintings looked okay to her, but maybe the gallery owner thought they were inferior.

“How did you acquire these?”

“They’re not mine. I work for the gentleman who hopes to sell them because he needs the cash. His wife bought them years ago, but after she died, he didn’t have much use for them. They’ve been stored in a spare room, just taking up space.”

Carys Mumford said, “Do you know these two artists?”

“I don’t. I never cared for landscapes myself-mountains and poppies or whatever those orange flowers are. Maybe you’re thinking these aren’t as good as the paintings you have, but the frames are worth a lot,” she said, trying not to sound desperate or apologetic.

Carys Mumford looked at her with surprise. “All you’re selling are the frames? I assumed you were talking about the paintings.”

“I’d be willing to throw those in. Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. This is a John Gamble, one of the plein-air painters from the early part of the century. His work is highly sought after. I haven’t seen a painting of this size in years. The other is by William Wendt, another well-known plein-air painter. If you’re not in any hurry, I have two or three clients I’m certain would be interested. It’s just a matter of reaching them.”

“How long would that take?”

“A week to ten days. These are people who travel most of the year and it’s sometimes a trick catching up with them. At the same time, they trust my judgment. If I say these are authentic, they’ll take my word for it.”