Amish Undercover (2 page)

“I’ll have a maid installed into Richard Starks’ house to keep an eye on things. Starks is the man I’ve been keeping an eye on. I’ll have to do that straight away before news of the painting comes out.”

“Put Emma in,” Ettie said.

Emma looked at Ettie and raised her eyebrows.

Bailey shook his head. “No, definitely not; it’s far too dangerous. We need an FBI agent or at the very least a female police officer.”

Maureen, who had been quiet for a while said, “What if the painting goes for sale at the same time and by the same owner of some other well known paintings?”

“Like the ones Bob inherited?” Elsa-May asked.

Ettie nodded. “
Jah
.”

“I like it Maureen, you’re a genius, but do we know if Bob wants to sell his paintings?” Bailey asked.

Ettie shrugged and looked at Maureen. “What else would he do with them?”

“I asked him about the paintings yesterday and he said he intended to sell them. I guess if you put the fake painting with his paintings, it would look like a collector is off loading some paintings, wouldn’t it?”

“Great, I’ll have a talk to Bob and see if he’ll be in on it,” Bailey said.

Maureen was quick to add, “He won’t like talking to anyone; he’s very private.”

“I can keep him right out of it. It will be publicized as an ‘anonymous art collector.’”

“I’ll ask him and see if he’ll speak to you about it,” Maureen said.

Bailey rubbed his hands together, “Excellent.”

Chapter 3.

For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world:

and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith.

1 John 5:4

Once all their visitors left, Wil and Emma stood in their kitchen cleaning and washing the dishes.

“That was our very first dinner with guests,” Emma said.

“
Jah
, it felt
gut
, didn’t it?” Wil stopped drying the dishes and looked at Emma. “I’m very much in love with you, Mrs. Jacobson.”

Emma blushed and looked down into the hot washing up water. She was not used to being called Mrs. Jacobson, and she was not used to someone saying that they loved her. Even though she knew that her first husband, Levi, loved her very much, he never said so. She took a breath and looked up into his warm brown eyes. “And I love you, Wil.” Emma had no idea why she had so many second thoughts about Wil before they were married.

“I’m glad you aren’t going to put yourself in danger by doing what Ettie suggested. It’s madness to get involved in a thing such as that.”

Emma said nothing and continued to wash the dishes. She would have done what Ettie had suggested if Bailey had approved of it. Emma stopped what she was doing and looked up at him once more. He turned and smiled at her. She looked into his familiar deep brown eyes and knew that she was very much loved by this man. Emma did not have the heart to tell him that she would have gone to that man’s house and pretended to be a maid if Bailey had allowed her. She remained silent, turning her attention back to the dirty dishes.

Growler walked up to Wil and yowled, smoothing against his legs and purring loudly.

“Look at him,” Emma said. “He’s my cat and he’s so fond of you.”

Wil reached down and picked Growler up, and Growler stayed still staring into Wil’s face. “Since we are married now, it makes him our cat. He likes me because I am his new
daed
.”

“
Wunderbaar
, you’re a
daed
to a fat tabby cat. And what’s going on here now? He’s never let me pick him up.”

Wil laughed. “I guess I’ve got a way with cats.”

Emma shook her head. “Well, since you’ve got a way with cats or you’re the cat’s
daed
or whatever, you can feed him.”

Wil put Growler down on the floor and got some meat out of the cold-box. “Do you think we should get another cat to keep him company?” Wil asked.

Emma stopped washing the dishes and turned to Wil. “
Nee
, we don’t even know if Growler would get on with another cat. Have you ever seen him with another cat?”

Wil shook his head.

“We’re mostly home all the time anyway. He’s got us for company.”

Wil remained silent. Emma was pretty certain she knew what that silence meant. “Have you already got another cat then?”

Wil looked up from feeding Growler. “The Wilsons’ cat just had eight kittens. I said we’d take one of them.” Wil added quickly. “They’re all silver tabbies.”

Emma’s shoulders drooped; she was right. “What if we get a dog instead?”

“Growler wouldn’t like a dog, Emma. I’m sure he’d like another cat. They could run around and play together.”

“I’ve never seen Growler run, he’s too old.”

“That’s because he doesn’t have another cat to play with.”

Emma knew the battle was already lost. She knew life would never be boring with Wil. “Okay, I guess we’re getting another cat.”

Wil remained crouched over Growler stroking his long fur while he ate. “
Denke
, Emma. You won’t be sorry. I knew you would think it was a
gut
idea.” Wil strode to the kitchen sink, lowered his head and kissed Emma on the cheek. Emma felt tingles run up and down her spine as she leaned back into him, smelling his familiar masculine scent. But, her relaxation was short lived.

“Smithy’s coming tomorrow to help me patch the roof.”

A sudsy saucepan fell out of her hands, and Emma swung around to face him with her wet hands dripping all over the kitchen floor. “What’s wrong with the roof?”

“Nothing to worry about. I knew from the start that it needed fixing in one small section.”

Emma breathed out the air that she was holding on to. “Oh, that’s good then. Anything else I need to know?”

“It’s an old house. There are quite a few repairs to do, but nothing for you to worry yourself about.”

She turned back to the dishes, and Wil stood behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her. He gently rocked her to and fro with the side of his face pressed against hers. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, ever again.”

Emma giggled. “I’ll do my very best to try and not worry about a thing. Now off with you; I’ll finish up in here.” Emma listened to Wil’s footsteps as he walked toward the living room. Glancing at Growler, who was still eating, Emma wondered why he had become so attached to Wil in such a short space of time when it had taken Growler a long time to warm to her.

* * *

At the next widows’ meeting, Elsa-May and Ettie were looking at information that Bailey had sent through to them about the art case.

“Bailey sent through the information and said we could read it if we’re interested,” Elsa-May said.

“Just tell us what’s in it,” Maureen said.

Elsa-May looked down at the four pages of information. “Okay, I hope I remember it correctly. I’ll read the start of it. “In the early hours of 8
th
August 1990, two men gained entry to the Chicago City Art Gallery dressed as policemen. They told the security men on the door that they had an anonymous tip off of a bomb in the building and that they needed to check into it. The security guards let the men in and as soon as they were in through the door, they bound and gagged the guards. They then took their time to steal twelve works of art. They were in the building for three hours. The security guards took a while to work out what was happening, and they thought that they were being arrested until one of the thieves told them that it was a robbery. They took their time getting exactly what they wanted and by passed many famous works.”

Elsa-May looked up at the other widows. “It is clear that they must have been working from a list as if they had special orders from people. Well, that’s what I think anyway. I think Ettie was right.”

Emma noticed a beaming smile on Ettie’s face. It was not often that Elsa-May gave her
schweschder
a compliment, and it was clear that Ettie appreciated it.

Elsa-May glanced down at the papers in her hand. “Altogether those twelve pieces of art were worth $500 million dollars.”

The widows all gasped, and Maureen said, “Is that right? I’ve never heard of so much money.”

“
Englischers
can pay a lot of money for paintings if it’s by a famous artist,” Silvie said.

“It’s hard to even imagine things worth that much money,” Emma said. “What else does it say on the papers there, Elsa-May?”

Elsa-May’s eyes dropped to the papers once more. “It says that the FBI believe that the organization that carried out the robbery moved to the Philadelphia area after the theft. They also believe that some of the works were sold in the early 2000s.”

Ettie picked up a piece of paper. “Here’s what Bailey is going to have someone paint.”

The widows all looked at the picture of the Chez Tortoni.

“Certainly doesn’t look like it’d be worth millions of dollars,” Maureen said.

“Apparently it is,” Elsa-May said.

“How old is the painting?” Emma asked while she stared into the likeness of it.

“I’m pretty sure that Bailey said that it was painted over a hundred years ago,” Ettie said. “Around the 1880s.”

“I hope all this works out. I hope it’s not all for nothing,” Silvie said when it was her turn to view the picture.

“Things will work out, just you wait and see,” Elsa-May said. “Ettie and I have been praying for Bailey for some time.”

“You have?”

Elsa-May and Ettie smiled, and Ettie said, “
Jah,
we have.”

Chapter 4.

Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer:

behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison,

that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days:

be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life.

Revelation 2:10

The prison guards led Marvin Forsythe to an interview room where Bailey was waiting for him.

Marvin laughed when he saw Bailey. “You are the last person I expected to see.”

Bailey looked Marvin up and down. He looked older and weathered in the face since the last time he had seen him. The orange jumpsuit Marvin wore was a stark reminder to Bailey that he was just about to ask a criminal to do the government a favor. Bailey had been given permission to offer Marvin an official pardon for his co-operation. Bailey was certain that Marvin would be more than happy to co-operate; if he were in the same circumstances, he would jump at the opportunity.

Bailey looked at the two prison guards, staring at them pointedly until they stepped back to give the two men some privacy.

Marvin leaned back in his chair.

“How do you like it in here?” Bailey said, wondering which way he should approach his request.

“How would you think I’d be liking it? Unable to see my kids, my wife threatening to divorce me… how do you think I’d like it? The food’s atrocious and I’m stuck in here with murderers and lunatics.” Marvin leaned forward. “I’m in here with perverts and hardened criminals; they’d slit their own mother’s throat if there were a buck in it for ‘em. All I did to get thrown in this joint was paint.”

“Then, it’s your lucky day, Forsythe.”

Marvin glanced at the two guards who were standing against the door behind Bailey and his eyes quickly fell back to Bailey. “What’re ya saying?”

“I’ve got a proposition to put to you and it involves you getting out of here.”

Marvin breathed out heavily. “What do I need to do? I’m not gonna rat on no one. I’d rather be in ‘ere than have a knife sticking outa me back, dead in some back alley.”

“I’m not asking you to ‘rat on’ anyone.” Bailey tried to ignore the sense of futility and desperation that hung heavily in the air of the prison. It bothered Bailey that there was something familiar about the place, but how could there be? Bailey had never stepped foot in this prison before, but there was a feeling he knew the place. 

“Yeah, then what then?”

“All you have to do is paint.” Bailey knew he should be concentrating on the conversation with Marvin, but the sense that he had been in this very room at one point was beginning to overwhelm him.

Marvin smirked and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Paint what?”

Bailey dropped his gaze and gathered his thoughts. He looked straight up into Marvin’s eyes. “Paint a two hundred year old painting, well, closer to a hundred year old painting.”

Marvin laughed. “That’s what got me in ‘ere.”

Bailey leaned as far forward as he could. “Now, it can get you out.”

Marvin studied Bailey’s face then asked, “Who does it have to fool?”

“It just has to fool someone to look at. We’ll have the verification papers falsified. It has to fool the press, and good enough to fool the experts on inspection by hand magnification – say ten to twenty magnification.”

“If I agree, I go completely free, charges squashed?” Marvin dropped his head, but kept his eyes fixed on Bailey.

“I’ve had the go ahead to make all charges go away and get you out of here.”

“Can I talk to my lawyer first?”

Bailey shook his head. “No one can know you’re out, not even your lawyer.”

Marvin rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I want to be anonymous; I don’t want it to come out later that I painted it. I want my name kept out of it; can you do that?”

Bailey nodded. “Absolutely. Plan is, no one will know you’re out. You’ll be taken to a safe-house until after this thing is over. You’ll do the painting and then you will stay in the safe-house until I say that you can go.”

Marvin scratched the gray stubble on his chin once more. “How long will that be?”

Bailey shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“Where’s this safe house?”

“I can’t tell you anymore until you agree.” Bailey looked around. “You’ll be out of this place; one officer will stay with you at all times and you’ll be given three decent meals a day. You can’t contact anyone at all. When visitors come here to see you, they’ll be told that you’re in solitary and aren’t allowed visitors until further notice.”

Marvin swiveled in his chair. “You’re a hundred percent I’ve got a pardon if I do this?”

“One hundred percent and you will leave with me right now if you agree.”

The edges of Marvin’s mouth turned upwards, and he nodded slowly. “I’ll do it.”

Bailey stood up. “Don’t tell anyone what’s happening. The guards will accompany you straight out to sign for your personal belongings and then we’re out of here.”

Marvin jumped to his feet. “I’ll need some things.”

“Let’s just get you out of here and we can arrange all that in the car. I’ll drive you straight to the safe-house.”

One prison guard led Marvin away, and one waited in the room to accompany Bailey out.

“Ready to go?” The raspy deep voice of the prison guard reverberated through Bailey’s head.

Bailey held up his hand and spoke to the prison guard who was behind him. “Give me a moment.” Bailey looked around the room. The walls, that were obviously once brick, were now covered in thick pale yellow paint; the large tiles on the floors were gray and dismal. The room was filled with gray, cold metal tables and chairs, four chairs to every table, and in the corner of the room stood a vending machine of snacks.

The only light in the room came from narrow horizontal windows just where the walls met the ceiling. As bleak as it was, everything seemed familiar. Something told him he’d been there years ago, maybe as a boy. Could he have visited someone in this very room and if so, who?

The deep voice once again disturbed Bailey’s thoughts. “It’s nearly visiting hours and I have to escort people in. I’m sorry, sir, I have to take you back out now.”

An hour later, Bailey was driving Marvin Forsythe, the best painting forger in the country, to a safe-house in Lancaster County. Bailey had approached Wil, on behalf of the FBI, to use his house as a temporary safe-house and Wil had kindly agreed.

“Now I’m doing you this favor, can you get me some decent clothes?” He was out of the prison supplied orange jumpsuit and into the clothes amongst his personal belongings. “I was arrested in these a year ago.” Marvin sniffed each armpit. “Pew, they could have laundered ‘em for me.”

Bailey pulled up at a Wal-Mart store on the way. “Get two pairs of pants and five shirts, whatever else you need and make it quick.”

Marvin walked into the store with Bailey close behind him. As Marvin gathered up clothing in his arms, he said, “Now you can tell me what I’ll be painting.”

After a quick look to see if anyone was in earshot, Bailey said, “I need you to paint Manet’s Chez Tortoni.”

Marvin rubbed his chin hard and squinted his eyes. “Wasn’t that one of the paintings that was stolen in the big 1990 art heist?”

Bailey nodded. “That’s the one.”

“That’s a hard ask. I’ve never seen it myself. That’s the man in a top hat and the half pitcher of beer?”

“Something like that. He’s got a black top hat and a glass of something next to him. I know it’s painted in oils.” Due to his job Bailey had become familiar with many old Master painters and painting techniques.

“I hope you’ve got a good variety of photos and info on it.”

Bailey nodded. “As many as I could get my hands on, and the people who’ll be viewing it would never have seen it before either, so don’t worry.” But Bailey could not tell Marvin everything; he could not tell him anything about Richard Starks, neither could he tell him what he planned to do with the painting when it was completed.

“I usually paint from something that I’m looking straight at or at least that I’ve seen before. I need to get the brushstrokes right, the nuances of light, the depths of color.”

Bailey looked around about them once more. It was not a good idea to talk in the store in case they were overhead. “C’mon, you got everything?”

Marvin nodded. Bailey paid for the goods, and they got back in the car. The next thing Marvin wanted was to eat fast food and lots of it. Bailey headed to the McDonalds drive through service.

After Marvin polished off his first burger, he asked Bailey, “Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

“We’re going to Lancaster County. You’re going to stay at an Amish community in a make-shift safe-house.”

“Amish? So, these Amish people, they live like they did hundreds of years ago, don’t they? Are you telling me there won’t be any television, no video games?”

“There’s no electricity at all. No television, no telephone, no computer; I did tell you that you can’t communicate with anyone, besides, you’ll be busy painting.” Bailey chuckled.

“I need to be relaxed when I’m painting. Can’t you hook up a generator?” Marvin offered Bailey some French fries.

Bailey shook his head. “I’m taking out a short lease and I’m sure the Amish don’t want me to do things like that.”

Marvin blew out a deep breath. “I like to watch the tele to wind down, just a couple hours a night. Can’t you arrange for me to have one?”

Bailey shook his head.

“Aww, I even had a tele in prison.”

“I can take you back there.”

Marvin pressed his lips together then took a mouthful of Pepsi.

“Careful you don’t spill that in my car.” Bailey glanced over at him. “I got you out, be grateful for that. Tell me this, I’ve always been curious to know, if you’re such a good artist why don’t you sell your own paintings?”

Marvin was quiet, and Bailey glanced at him sideways again, while still trying to watch the road. “Well?” Bailey asked.

“I’d starve, that’s why. I tried doing that for ten years. I’d sell one here and there, but no one wants to buy a painting from an unknown artist. They only want to buy a painting from someone if they think that they’re going to become famous. I painted seven days a week and sold enough to live on, but just barely. I met Page, and

then she got pregnant. I had to marry her, then I had three mouths to feed soon after.”

Bailey glanced over at him again. He sensed the frustration that Marvin had at not being able to sell his own paintings.

Marvin shrugged. “What was I to do? I only knew how to paint. Someone approached me at one of my showings and he offered me big money if I could copy something for him. I was four weeks behind in the rent, what was I to do? And I had another kid on the way. I just thought I’d do one and catch up on the rent, but then other offers came my way. It was hard to refuse – I was finally getting paid good money to paint.”

“Good money; that’s an understatement. The couple you were working for made millions.”

Marvin’s cheeks flushed with color. “I told the court, and I’ll tell you; they only gave me $3,000 for every painting; what they did with them after that I don’t know. I didn’t know they were raking in so much money.”

“Did you ever give a thought to the people you were deceiving by painting those forgeries?”

“I was providing a service; if I didn’t do it they would’ve gotten someone else to do it. Besides, they were happy to buy the art and sometimes they thought the art was stolen, so that makes them just as guilty. What’s the real difference if I or someone else painted it? It’s snob value; they want something painted by someone famous. Ya know what? Sometimes they don’t even like the paintings. They only buy ‘em because other people want ‘em.”

“I guess that’s what makes the art valuable. The fact that so many people want the same thing,” Bailey said.

“Understand where I’m coming from?”

Bailey laughed. “No, I don’t see where you’re coming from at all. You broke the law.”

“I was trying to feed my family. I never would’ve done it if my paintings had sold well. Can’t you see that? I’m the same painter. My paintings didn’t sell under my own name, but they sell when I paint them under someone else’s name.”

Bailey shook his head; all criminals were the same in his eyes. “You could’ve done something else to make an honest living.”

“Yeah, and I would’ve done something else. I never thought I’d end up going to jail for just doing a few paintings,” Marvin said. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“You must have seen that coming. You must have known you were taking a risk by breaking the law in the first instance.”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think about it that much. I’ve got two kids now you know. If you hadn’t gotten me out, it’d be two years before I would’ve been eligible for parole.”

Bailey sniggered. “You’re welcome.”

Bailey could feel Marvin staring at him and then Marvin said, “I guess you’re a rich boy, and you’ve never been through hard times have you?”