“I would very much like to hang this piece in my gallery,” Ross said. “Can I borrow it? I promise I won’t sell it.”

Rafter dragged a hand through his wavy hair, hair that was graying faster than he liked. “No, Cam, this painting is personal to me. I think I need to keep it here. I’m sure Annie will be a mother some day soon.”

Rafter walked over towards the middle of his studio. His studio had once been a carriage house long years ago. At some point in time it had then been turned into a detached garage. A year ago Rafter finished converting it into an art studio. He pointed up to a different painting. “I recently finished this one. You can take it instead.”

Ross joined him in front of the painting. He took off his glasses and chewed on one stem. “It’s gorgeous. Who is the kid in the painting?”

Rafter made a face. “It’s Jesus. Mary and Joseph accidently left him behind in Jerusalem after celebrating the Passover. And when they realized Jesus was missing they turned around and went looking for him. They found him in the temple courts asking the teachers questions.”

Ross slid his glasses back onto his nose. “I told you I don’t know much about the Bible.”

“Well, in order to fully appreciate Renaissance art you might need to brush up on the stories behind the paintings and sculptures. And I got just the thing to help you, Cam.”

Rafter went over to a cabinet. He reached inside and navigated his arm around paint supplies and pulled out an object. He brought it over and handed it to his friend.

“It’s a book.”

“It’s more than a book, Cam. It’s a Bible.” Its dimensions were about four inches by four inches, and encased in a hardwood cover and binding, the small Bible measured a little over three inches thick. A rosewood stain, remarkably void of scratches, protected the wooden cover. A tiny brass latch, still in working condition sealed it shut.

“Where did you find this, Jon? It looks really old. And it’s in superb condition.”

“I discovered it at a garage sale.”

“And why do you want me to have it?”

Rafter shrugged, feigning indifference. “I know how you love antiques. And your birthday is coming up. I thought you might like it.”

Ross shook his head and handed the small Bible back to Rafter. “I can’t accept it, Jon. I know there’s an ulterior motive behind it. You want to convert me to your beliefs.”

“Cam, I can feel it in my bones that heaven contains magnificent artwork. Some of the masters are there, painting as we speak. I’d like to view their heavenly artwork with you someday.”

“I assure you, Jesus doesn’t approve of my hedonistic lifestyle. We’re incompatible. You may look at me and see a well-dressed nerd. But behind the tweed jacket and bowtie and Harry Potter glasses is a man full of ugly vices,” Ross confessed.

“That makes you a perfect candidate to be friends with Jesus. When he walked on earth he often hung out with rich men and prostitutes, as well as misfits, outcasts, lepers and the destitute. And he tended to shy away from people who thought they were faultless.”

“You make Jesus sound like a party animal,” Ross said.

Rafter grinned. “He sort of was. He caused a stir wherever he went. Jesus performed his first miracle at a wedding feast when he turned water into wine. And then he really shook things up when he caused the sun to stop shining and the earth to quake on the first Good Friday.”

Ross sighed. “You keep it. I would just sell it to make a buck. But I would like to take the painting you just showed me and hang it in my gallery.”

Rafter placed the wooden Bible into a chest pocket on his long-sleeved painter’s shirt. “Sure, take it, Cam. I hope visitors to your gallery will like it.”

Ross removed the painting from a hook on the wall and headed for the door. “Forgive me for my abrupt departure, Jon, but I have to run. I have a meeting with another dealer in New Orleans. Let me know when you finish the Bertocchi. I’ll drive down and get it.”

“Okay. I promise I will.” After his friend left the studio, Rafter placed a Sinatra CD into a portable stereo player and plopped back down onto his stool. As Frank began to croon Summer Wind, Rafter dabbed his tiny scalpel into the tinted varnish on his palette, and then bent his head down to the microscope. Finding the spot where he’d left off, he made more dots on Delilah’s nose.

He’d barely been at it more than a few minutes when he heard the door open again. “It’s Grand Central Station around here, Rosie. I can’t get a thing done,” he muttered to the dog lying faithfully nearby.

Rafter felt an insistent tap on his shoulder. He looked up from the microscope and saw Annie standing there. A concerned look darkened his wife’s face. “Hey, Babe, is there something wrong? You look worried.”

Annie nodded her head. “Our guests are strange this time, Jon. They’re like the guests from hell. I think we need to refund their money and ask them to leave.”

“Are these the two couples that rented out every room for the next two nights?”

“They are.”

“What are they doing that’s bothering you?”

“They’re making all sorts of racket. I’m hearing electronic beeps every few minutes. And I thought I heard a drill, and maybe even a saw. When they arrived they didn’t bring in suitcases, just giant duffels.”

“They do sound rather odd.”

“Jon, I think they’re more than odd, I think they’re criminal. I recognize one of them. He showed up several days ago and asked if he could relic hunt on our grounds with his metal detector. I turned him down.” Annie started pacing. “We have to do something. They’re tearing up our house.”

Rafter set his scalpel down on his palette and stood up. “Okay, let’s go talk to them.”

At the door, Rafter stopped. He turned and hustled back to his work table. He picked up the Bertocchi painting and hung it on the wall where Cameron had removed the Jesus painting for his gallery. And then he left his art studio, shutting the door behind him, and ran after Annie.

Chapter 5

Holding two WG D18 Hand Held Metal Scanners in a V-shape, Arcadias stood in the Rose Room—an upstairs bedroom—and dragged the scanners along the lath and plaster wall. The scanners Arcadias operated were often used in prisons to find small metallic objects hidden by prisoners, either on their bodies or in their cells. The scanners were lightweight and easy to use. But best of all they were powerful and accurate.

Arcadias admired the home as he worked. Ornate woodwork filled the home, as did antique furniture. Brass chandeliers hung throughout the house. Jaw-dropping artwork covered the plaster walls: some paintings, but mostly murals. Frescoes covered high ceilings. Arcadias felt like he was in an art gallery dedicated to the Renaissance period. A mural of a lush garden filled with rose bushes covered the walls in the room he worked.

The historical mansion displayed many treasures, every room a feast for the eyes. But only one treasure called his name. And Arcadias intended to find it.

So far the scanners hadn’t emitted a pulse in the Rose Room, except for when he got too close to a gilded-framed painting hanging by a nail. He could only assume nails were a scarcity when the original owner built the home back in the early nineteenth century, using a half timber frame construction. All the trim work he’d examined so far was constructed with wooden pegs instead of nails.

Arcadias’ trusty Fisher F75 lay in a corner. He’d already scanned the room’s floor, finding nothing. The wooden floor planks were also fastened together with wooden pegs, for which he was glad. Nails gave off false hits. From what he could tell, the same flooring ran throughout the house. He would eventually have to go over the entire floor, but would wait until the owners turned in for the night.