Amish Undercover Read online

  “Can’t you get a search warrant and just go and search the place?” Ettie asked.

  Bailey shook his head. “He can’t know we’re on to him. We can’t risk him being more cautious than he is already. He wouldn’t have the painting hanging on the wall either. It’d most likely be in some secret compartment of his huge home, or in a vault somewhere.”

  After a silence while everyone ate, Maureen asked. “What will you do when you join the community? Is there anything else you do besides trying to catch art thieves?”

  Bailey laughed. “I’ve always hoped that my job description would be ‘catching art thieves’ rather than trying.”

  Maureen lowered her eyes.

  “You’ve caught no one?” Emma asked.

  “I have apprehended people in the past, so yes, I have caught people. The most recent case was an art forger, trying to pass off a fake as an original painting. He was part of a large organized network.”

  “They do that?” Maureen asked.

  Bailey nodded. “Yes, it happens all the time. Probably more often than people would even begin to imagine. Many years ago, the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre. Years later, the person who stole it was caught trying to sell it to an art dealer. But, how many people had he sold the Mona Lisa to before he was caught? And is the one that is hanging in the Louvre now, the original?”

  Elsa-May knew the others would not have any idea what the Mona Lisa was or for that matter the Louvre. She turned to Maureen, Ettie and Emma and explained that the Mona Lisa is one of the most famous paintings in the world and the Louvre is the largest and most famous museum in the world, located in Paris.

  Emma turned to Bailey. “So someone can paint exactly the same as someone else and fool someone into believing that it’s genuine?”

  “Yes, most definitely, but it’s not as easy as it sounds, particularly with modern techniques. These days there’s x-ray and identifying the actual ingredients in the paint to see whether that type of paint was used when the painting was supposed to have been painted. The pigments used hundreds of years ago when these old Masters were painted were different. Then there’s backlight and UV testing and the like. Before all that, experts had to rely on studying technique and brushstrokes. It would take an extremely knowledgeable expert to fake an old Master these days.”

  “But it can be done, and even fool the experts?” Elsa-May asked.

  “Yes, it can be done,” Bailey said eyeing Elsa-May closely.

  “There’s your answer,” Elsa-May said waving her fork in the air.

  Bailey frowned at Elsa-May. “Answer to what?”

  “Have a painting done of what you think the man you’ve been watching has got. Then put it into an art auction. That man would have to wonder if he’s got the original or whether he’s been passed a fake.”

  “Ahh, so he’ll think someone has double crossed him.” Bailey’s face brightened. “I like it. At the very least, he’d have to wonder. And, if he has sold it to someone else, the person he’s sold it to will be none too happy.” Bailey was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “I could arrange huge publicity that the stolen artwork has been found.”

  “Jah, and that should flush him out,” Elsa-May gave a sharp nod of her head.

  “Can you have a painting done to fool people? You said it was difficult,” Emma said.

  A smile twigged at the corners of Bailey’s mouth. “I’ve got the perfect man to do it. Only thing is I’ll have to get him out of jail first. I’m sure I’ll be able to get him out. I’ll get him a pardon for helping the FBI.”

  “How long would it take to paint such a painting?” Silvie asked.

  “Maybe three weeks, I’m guessing. Could be more.”

  The widows smiled at each other; their plan worked, their plan to help Bailey.

  “What can we do to help?” Emma asked saying the very thing that she knew the other widows were about to ask.

  “Nothing. Thanks for the idea Elsa-May, but that’s where helping me has to end.” Bailey leaned back in his chair and exchanged amused glances with Wil.

  Emma caught the exchange and knew what they were both thinking. They were both thinking that they were just women and not capable of being of any real help. Emma was not offended; she remembered what Ettie, or was it Elsa-May, said the other day about menner needing to feel superior.

  “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 wa
y 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 8th 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.”