“You’ve got to tell me who the artist was for that piece. I got outbid, but I know for a fact that was not a Gregor Standish.”
And here it comes. Because there’s no way anyone could mistake my reclaimed metal art for a Gregor Standish.
“There’s no way in hell I would’ve bid that high for one of his melted-crayon-looking things.”
Shock bubbles up inside me, and I’m speechless.
Keira glances from the woman to me. “You’ll have to ask Temperance. She coordinated the auction, and that piece was a last-minute swap that went out mislabeled. We’re going to inform the buyer and let him know about the mistake to see if he wants to cancel his bid.”
The woman extends a hand and I shake it automatically. “I’m Valentina Hendrix. I own Noble Art, and if the winner cancels his bid, I’ll match it. I want the piece and the artist’s name.”
Somehow, I keep my jaw from dropping at her declaration. Noble Art is one of the top galleries in the Quarter, and so prestigious and expensive, I’ve never done more than peer through the windows from the sidewalk.
“Temperance?” Keira prompts me when I don’t say anything in reply.
I find my tongue and ability to lie. “I believe the artist was anonymous. I don’t have a name to give you.”
One of Valentina’s perfect dark eyebrows goes up. “Anonymous. Hmm.” She surveys me with a look I can’t interpret. “I’ve heard that story before.”
Shit. She knows I’m lying. “Excuse me, but I need to go find the buyer and explain that there’s been a mistake.”
“Keep me posted, Temperance. My offer stands.”
Shell-shocked, I weave through the crowd again, mumblingexcuse meover and over because I don’t know what else to say.
Tonight couldn’t have gone more differently than I expected if the entire building had disappeared into a sinkhole.
I slide around the side of the stage we set up for the auction and try to catch the attention of an auctioneer’s assistant who’s in charge of moving the items. He holds up a finger before carrying out the third piece.
When he returns, he steps off the stage as the auctioneer begins his spiel. “Can I help you?”
“Who bought the first piece? I need to speak with him or her.”
The guy shrugs. “It was a man, but I’m not sure who. We’ve got the payment table set up in the corner. Maybe you can catch him there.”
Duh. Why didn’t I think of that?
Probably because my brain is already fried tonight from too many curveballs.
“Thanks.”
I make my way to the opposite corner of the room where a table is set up for the payment of donations. The man sitting there glances up at me from a stack of paperwork.
“I need to speak to whomever bought the first piece before he pays.”
“Too late. Already got his payment.”
“His?What did he look like?”
The man blinks behind glasses as thick as Coke bottles. “Well, I can’t exactly say. It was a man.”
“Older than you? Younger? Gray hair? Purple?”
His expression turns disapproving. “I’m afraid I didn’t catalog his attributes, but I do have a check if that helps.”
He opens a folder and pulls it out. I snatch it out of his hand.
“Nunya Holdings LLC?”