To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Ten: A Diamond Under Scrutiny

"Portrait of the Duke of Wellington" by Francisco de Goya (1812-1814), stolen 1961, voluntarily returned 1965 - exact value unknown (disputed)

Chapter Ten

"Eleanor Vaycker, daughter of renown venture capitalist Roger Vaycker, remains a controversial topic of discussion this week. Found at the scene of a multimillion-dollar crime, Ms. Vaycker is facing scrutiny for the role she may have played in the loss of the famous painting 'The Weeping Widow'."

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"Miss Vaycker was apparently the only employee at Whitehill Museum and Art Gallery present that night, other than the evening security team, whose testimonies verify she was found surrounded by the exhibit's broken glass when authorities arrived. Next up, the FBI's response and lead suspect list."

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"The painting, which experts estimate to be worth over $107 million dollars, has yet to be found. We bring you more after this short break."

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"The painting is the last piece completed by Wille Le'Garrigue before the artist presumably disappeared. Other works by Le'Garrigue include 'Liberty at the Lighthouse' and 'Audrey at Sea'. Both works are currently held in private collections in London."

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"Federal Agent Catarina Gallick, head of the FBI's Art Crime Division in Los Angeles, stated this morning the FBI has not yet identified any suspects. The investigation is still ongoing, as the uninsured painting remains lost. Agent Gallick stresses that while persons of interest have been identified, no further information is available at this time."

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"Hey Siri, what's the best way to get a sulking sister off her couch and back into the real world?"

Carrie's voice echoed off the wood floors of my living room to where I slumped in the cushions. Her loud question clashed with the sound from the computer on my lap, but I ignored her and her Siri's confused quip back. Instead, I clicked to the next tab, to the next video, to the next article.

But Carrie never liked to be ignored.

My huddle of blankets weighed me down and slowed my response when she marched across the room, snatched my laptop from where it rested, and slung it on the cushion next to me. My counterattack proved to be even more nonexistent when the top layer of blankets was ripped off.

"Hey!" I protested, trying to tug back the layer. It was meant to be a tougher form of protection than my metaphorically thin skin. But Carrie, wispy twirl of unassuming ivy that she seems, fought my grip ferociously. I was as guilty as my parents when it came to underestimating her.

"Get up," she demanded. I shook my head no, reaching for my laptop, but she smacked my hand away and reached for the next layer.

"Who even invited you? Get out!"

Aunt Fanny had never clutched her pearls as hard as I clutched my blanket under her attack.

"Eleanor! You're acting like a child."

Carrie's voice was firmer than I'd ever heard it, snapping at my cowardice as I tried to retreat further into my cashmere sanctuary. God, she sounded like our mother.

"Leave me alone."

"You're being ridiculous!"

She huffed, or maybe she was taking a deep breath in preparation. Regardless, I wasn't ready. With one hard wrench, Carrie ripped the blanket from my cold hands; I glowered at her, feeling the creeping, aching chill that couldn't be blamed on the dropping temperature outside. It didn't deter the nose scrunch she gifted me once again.