Gina Rae Mitchell

Dying for Monet by Claudia Riess (An Art History Mystery) | Excerpt & $25 Gift Card | @ClaudiaRiess @ClaudiaRiessBooks @GoddessFish

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Book Details

Dying for Monet: An Art History Mystery by Claudia Riess
Published by Level Best Books on May 28, 2024
Genres: Mystery
Format: eBook, Paperback
Pages: 302

A gala evening auction at Laszlo’s, an upstart auction house in New York City, is in progress. Without notice, a much sought-after Impressionist painting is withdrawn from the block. Moments later, its broker is found dead at the foot of an imposing statue in Laszlo’s courtyard.

Amateur sleuths Erika Shawn and Harrison Wheatley are once again drawn into an investigation involving an art-related homicide, this time sharing an unnerving coincidence with violent crimes occurring abroad.

As Harrison searches for clues in the archives at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, Erika is on a stakeout in Brooklyn Heights gathering information on the owner of the hijacked still life. After Harrison experiences a disastrous encounter in London, he returns home, where he and Erika, along with a few of their usual cohorts, find themselves ever more deeply at odds with the movers and shakers on the dark side of fine arts commerce.

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Excerpt from Dying for Monet

Greenwich, Connecticut January 5, 1927

It was time. The mavericks, all thirty of them represented at the first Impressionist Exhibition in Paris, 1874, had passed away. Not that a clean sweep was essential to the plan, but there was a sense of closure about it, as useless yet gratifying as an account ledger balanced to the penny.

The framed canvases were propped up against the far wall of the living room like hostages awaiting their release. The overstuffed couch with its mesmerizing pattern of exotic birds had been moved into the dining room to clear the wall space for them. The drapes were drawn and the room was bathed in artificial light, yet the paintings seemed to be standing out in the open, beneath the sky.

It was the sheer vibrancy of color that created the illusion, Elizabeth Barden thought, as she surveyed the display, guilt creeping into her enjoyment of it. Though there’d been no law against it, it had been criminal to have kept these luminous visions in the dark all these years. If only she hadn’t been bound by a promise!

She remembered her parents sitting her down at the kitchen table in this very home, thirty-three years ago it was, the two of them planting themselves opposite her, looking more grimly serious than she’d ever seen them. She was fourteen years old at the time and not yet settled on what to make of herself, looks and intelligence ratings still torturously pending. She imagined she was about to hear that she’d been adopted or had three months to live.

What they told her was less dire, but required a more sustained focus to take in. The paintings would be her legacy, they said, but in order for this to be the case, she must follow their instructions down to the letter. She had to clasp their hands in hers—as good as swearing on the bible—and promise to do so. The mood lightened only once during the interview, and that was when she’d pronounced the artist’s name as if it rhymed with “bonnet.” “Monet,” her mother had corrected, grinning. “Mow the grass. Neigh says the horse.”

The memory did not draw a smile. How could it, when these prisoners stood before her in dutiful formation? How brilliantly they’d persevered without a trace of reproach marring their freshness! And wasn’t it curious, how her gaze seemed to be drawn—and return when it wandered elsewhere— to the still life of a Wedgewood vase teeming with flowers—gladioli, lilies, wildflowers; a riot of color she would hardly call “still.” Not her favorite genre, still life, but she’d felt the same sort of instant affinity to this painting as she’d had with her lover, Jacob, not at all her type, but upon an exchanged look, bound to him body and soul.

And of course, in a manner of speaking he, too, like the painting, had been hidden for far too long from the embrace of natural light. She must free him, too, from the dark. She had been intending for a year—what was she thinking, more than a year—to tell her most dear but tiresome husband of her affair and the necessity for a divorce. The imminence of the afternoon’s scheduled eve
nt strengthened her resolve. She would end the secrecy tonight.

Hard to believe that barely one hour from now, unless God or chance intervened, the transaction would be under way. The wealthy young art collector, Lewis Keller, along with the gallery owner who had used his networking skills to nose him out and was serving as broker in the deal, would soon be rapping at the door of the sprawling old ranch-house where Elizabeth had lived all her life, half of it with her husband, Wallace. The gallery owner’s entourage of packers and transporters would be on hand as well.

The collector, a bit wet behind the ears, she’d discovered when he’d first come to look over the paintings, had seemed to rely more on the gallery owner’s aesthetic judgment than on his own. Like a pet owner forced by circumstances to give up her precious charge, she hoped that the man to whom she was relinquishing the paintings would treat them with the care they deserved.

Before withdrawing to her room to freshen up, Elizabeth stepped into the kitchen to see how her husband was coming along with the needless crudité platter he was arranging for their guests.

“Ah, Wally,” she said rather sadly, thinking of what was ahead for the poor man tonight, “an unaccompanied champagne toast would have been quite sufficient.”

“I know, Liz, I know,” Wallace said, putting down the knife with which he had been slicing carrots into sticks. “But you must admit, a little gesture of thoughtfulness goes a long away.” He tapped his apron-bibbed chest for emphasis.

“You’re right, dear,” Elizabeth agreed, gritting her teeth at his habit of speaking in aphorisms. The knife was lying on the counter unattended, and she imagined, for an instant as fleeting and pleasant as a sunny landscape striking an Impressionist’s eye, of stabbing him with it.

An excerpt from Dying for Monet was provided by the author/publisher for use in this post.

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Full Tour Schedule:

October 7: Books R Us
October 7: Wendi Zwaduk – Romance to Make Your Heart Race
October 8: Sandra’s Book Club
October 9: Christine Young
October 10: Guatemala Paula Loves to Read
October 11: Joanne Guidoccio
October 11: A Wonderful World of Words
October 14: The Faerie Review
October 15: With Lurv
October 15:  Stormy Nights Reviewing & Bloggin’
October 16: The Avid Reader

October 17: Gina Rae Mitchell
October 18: Momma Says: To Read or Not to Read
October 21: Books, Ramblings, and Tea
October 21: Westveil Publishing
October 22: FUONLYKNEW
October 23: Locks, Hooks and Books
October 24: Beyond Romance
October 25: Country Mamas With Kids
October 28: Of Books and Bookish Things
October 29: Iron Canuck Reviews & More
October 29: Long and Short Review
October 30: Fabulous and Brunette
October 31: Cassidy’s Bookshelves
October 31: Sapphyria’s Books
November 1: fundinmental

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