“Heil Hitler,” Dezo responded as his stomach turned in revulsion.
“Where are you going?” the guard asked.
“We are returning home from a trip from the country. Our house is on the other side of the river,” Dezo lied.
“Papers?”
Dezo took a deep breath and handed him the envelope from Gellert. As the guard examined them, Dezo watched as two men were dragged from a house and shoved to their knees. When they refused to submit to the soldiers, they were shot in the head.
The guard turned to his fellow guards. “Let them through.”
Dezo drove slowly through the now German-occupied Budapest toward the river. “Papa! It’s Elek!”
Dezo slowed the car at the sight of his son walking with his head down along the buildings. He was hidden in a group of well-to-do teens rushing home. “Rozsa, don’t create a scene. Just call him over to the car.” Even as Dezo’s whole body shook, he tried to appear calm as he stopped the car.
Rozsa opened the car door and stepped out. He could see her skirts swaying as fear shook her body. “There you are, Elek. Now, get in the car so we won’t be late for dinner.”
Elek’s head shot up and he ran for the car until he saw his mother motion for him to slow down. Dezo’s heart pounded as his son closed the distance between them and finally slipped into the car.
“They’re killing people, Papa,” Elek said with his face streaked with tears. “They killed hundreds and just tossed them in the river.”
Dezo put the car in gear and did what he had to do to save the Alder family. He lied, he stole, and he prayed.
It took two days to reach the farthest western border of Hungary. Dezo and his family parked the car in the small village and prepared to make the rest of the trip on foot. They’d seen all cars attempting to leave the country turned away. This was now their only option. They ate in silence as Nazi guards patrolled the street around them. Dezo pocketed a loaf of bread and ordered his family to do the same before they strolled to a nearby park with their backpacks containing everything they now owned.
The west end of the park sat next to a forest and mountainous region. Dezo’s plan was to stroll through the park to the forest at the border. They would lay out their blanket and pretend to have a picnic dinner until the park cleared. Then it would be a 600-kilometer hike through the forest and mountains of Austria that were filled with Nazis to reach the Swiss border. They would have to hurry, yet hide the entire way. Dezo knew they were likely to be killed, but he had to try to save his family.
As the sun set on Hungary, the Alder family slipped into the darkness of the trees, never to see their home country again.
1
Spring, present day, Shadows Landing, South Carolina . . .
Tinsley Faulkner’s long, wavy brown hair had paint in it. How did that happen? She’d had it tied back when she was working on her latest painting, but of course she didn’t see the cobalt blue paint until she was feet from her cousin-in-law’s art gallery.
Tinsley stood on the cobblestone sidewalk of downtown Charleston, trying to pick the paint from the tips of her hair. That’s when she noticed the white paint on her forearm.
“I’m hopeless.” Tinsley sighed as she gave up. If anyone would understand her paint-splattered appearance, it was Ellery.
Tinsley opened the door to the gallery and felt as if she’d just walked into her home. She had her own gallery in Shadows Landing in which she displayed her pieces as well as those by some other, lesser-known, artists. Ellery’s gallery in downtown Charleston was the opposite. She had some local artists, and of course insisted on carrying some of Tinsley’s paintings, but she also got the big names of the art world. However, a gallery was a gallery and the paintings, sketches, and statues instantly calmed Tinsley as she smiled at them all.
“Aren’t you a lovely one,” she murmured to a painting.
“That she is. I, however, am not.”
Tinsley looked up at Ellery making her way slowly toward her. Ellery was nine months pregnant and ready to go at any moment.
“You’re stunning,” Tinsley said as she hugged Ellery. “I only wish I was talented enough to capture this maternal glow you have in a painting.”
Ellery rolled her eyes. “I can’t see my feet. I can’t wear heels. I go to the bathroom every five minutes. I swear this kid is playing kickball with my bladder.”
“And you’ve never been happier,” Tinsley said with a knowing grin.
Ellery nodded as she rubbed her hand over her baby bump. “And I’ve never been happier.”
“Ready to get that pedicure?” Tinsley asked.
“I can’t wait.” Ellery went to close the door, but before she could reach it, two men came in.
What struck Tinsley as odd was not their jeans and baggy T-shirts, nor the fact that their tennis shoes were unlaced and appeared too big for them, or even that they had large tattoos on their upper arms. What struck Tinsley as odd was that they didn’t take even a second to look at the art on the walls.
“Can I help you?” Ellery asked.
“Yeah,” the first man said. He was tall, over six feet, and had what looked like a snake tattooed around his arm. The second man stood back with his hands held in front of him. He didn’t look around either. He just stared at Tinsley and Ellery. “My brother and I are looking to sell some art. Do you do that here?”
“We display and sell for select artists and private owners. We also work with other galleries across the country to display prominent artists,” Ellery answered.
“See,” the guy started to say before clearing his throat and standing up straighter. “Our grandmother has this painting that she’s looking to sell. She’s really sick and needs help with her medical bills.”
“Who is the artist?” Ellery asked as the man pulled out his phone.
“I’m sorry, I’m not very knowledgeable on this sort of thing,” he admitted as he showed her the painting.
Tinsley looked over Ellery’s shoulder and frowned. She knew that artist. “That’s a Hamburg. Where did your grandmother find it?” Tinsley asked.
Ellery glanced at Tinsley in surprise. Hamburg paintings were notoriously hard to come by.
“I don’t know,” the man admitted.
“Well, I’d be happy to sell it for her,” Ellery said slowly. “However, I’d need to get it appraised and also see all of the paperwork on it.”
“There’s paperwork for art?” the man asked.
“A Certificate of Authenticity,” Tinsley explained. “It’s proof of the chain of ownership going back to the artist. It’s the artwork’s provenance, used for insurance purposes to prove who the artist is and the list of owners is in date order to help with appraisals and stop forgeries, prevent ownership disputes, and such.”
“Yes, it’s standard in the art industry,” Ellery told him.
“I don’t know if my grandmother has that. Can’t you sell the painting without it?” the man asked.
Ellery shook her head. “No gallery or art buyer will buy a piece of this value without it. I hope you find it. Many people keep those papers in a safe deposit box or a safe.”