A Priceless Find by Kate James

A Priceless Find

Having expected the customary wooden shipping crates used for transporting artwork, she’d had the foresight to bring along a screwdriver set, a small hammer and a chisel.

Excitement, anticipation and nerves coursed through her in equal measure.

She uncrated the first paintings she assumed were part of the shipment in question, then examined the contents of a couple of the other crates.

Dropping back on her heels, she released a huge breath.

Everything seemed to be in order. The contents appeared to be consistent with the bills of lading attached to the crates. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary here.

Overactive imagination. Overactive imagination, she chanted to herself.

She’d tell Sam what she’d found, but the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced there was nothing untoward going on. It all related to the operations of the gallery. Granted, she didn’t know all the uses for the warehouse. She’d been aware of its existence but she hadn’t had any reason to go inside, since it was seldom utilized.

Putting the paintings back, she secured the crates, leaving them the way she’d found them.

She slipped on her boots and was about to leave, when a thought occurred to her. She hurriedly pulled out her phone again and snapped pictures of the workstation. She’d show the pictures to Sam and let him draw his own conclusion.

Opening the entrance door slightly to look outside, she struck by how silent everything was. Large flakes of snow drifted gently down.

But there was a set of footprints on the ground.

Not hers, which the snow had covered, as she’d guessed. The prints stopped some distance away from the entrance and backtracked the way they’d come, disappearing around the street corner. Had the person stopped to peer into the warehouse through the barred window?

Her first inclination was to follow the footprints to see where they led. Feeling a tingle on the back of her neck, she thought better of it. Slipping out the door, she locked it and hurried to her car.

The footprints—and the possibility of someone having seen her inside the warehouse and maybe recognizing her car—made her rethink once more what she’d found and what it might mean.

She needed to talk to Sam, she decided, with a mixture of excitement at the prospect of seeing him and hurt that he’d so effortlessly shut her out.

He’d made her promise to contact him if she thought of anything that might pertain to the investigation. Well, she’d be following his instruction.

Chelsea took a final look at the front of the warehouse before buckling her seatbelt and driving away. She’d tell Sam what she’s discovered and get his take on it. She might as well mention Mr. Hadley’s sister’s condition, in response to his question about family illnesses. She was certain it was unrelated to the switching of the Babineux, but he had asked.

Regardless of what it might mean to her career aspirations at the gallery, she had to do what she considered right.