Laura Caldwell - False Impressions

THE ART OF MURDER

Chicago attorney Izzy McNeil is ready to take a break from private investigation and focus on her career in criminal law. But as a favor, she agrees to work with Madeline Saga, a beautiful art gallery owner who fears that artwork she has sold is fake. Who in Madeline’s tight circle of artists and gallery owners is guilty of the forgeries?

When Madeline’s life is threatened, Izzy is suddenly asking a more troublesome question: Who wants the gallery owner dead?

As the case spins out of control, there’s only one person who makes Izzy feel safe—Detective Damon Vaughn. But getting close to her former nemesis is full of surprises. Astonishing truths about the glittering Chicago art scene will introduce Izzy to the deadliest art of deception.…

Praise for the novels of Laura Caldwell

“The latest magnificent McNeil legal thriller... With her father back in her life after years of not being there for her, last year’s Sam fiasco (see Red Hot Lies), and now the Theo incident; Izzy wonders whom do you trust when you cannot trust a loved one. This is a terrific twisting tale.”

—Mystery Gazette on Question of Trust

“Forget John Grisham; Laura Caldwell is the real deal.”

—Mystery Scene on Claim of Innocence

“Caldwell’s trial scenes, breezy but effective, are key to the unmasking of the real culprit. Izzy’s successful juggling of personal and professional roles should win her more fans.”

—Publishers Weekly on Claim of Innocence

“Smart dialogue, captivating images, realistic settings and sexy characters... The pieces of the puzzle come together to reveal the secrets between the sheets that lead Izzy to realize who the killer is.”

—BookReporter.com on Red Blooded Murder

“Red Blooded Murder aims for the sweet spot between tough and tender, between thrills and thought—and hits the bull’s-eye. A terrific novel.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Lee Child

“Izzy is the whole package: feminine and sexy, but also smart, tough and resourceful. She’s no damsel-in-distress from a tawdry bodice ripper; she’s more than a fitting match for any bad guys foolish enough to take her on.”

—Chicago Sun-Times on Red Blooded Murder

“Told mainly from the heroine’s first-person point of view, this beautifully crafted and tightly written story is a fabulous read. It’s very difficult to put down—and the ending is terrific.”

—RT Book Reviews on Red Hot Lies

“Former trial lawyer Caldwell launches a mystery series that weaves the emotional appeal of her chick-lit titles with the blinding speed of her thrillers.”

—Publishers Weekly on Red Hot Lies

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Katie Caldwell Kuhn, who knows nothing of false impressions, only of real love.

Contents

Prologue Prologue Watching Madeline Saga from outside her gallery had become an obsession. Just like Madeline also had an obsession—art. Madeline was in her gallery all day. Then she would return at night, often wearing different clothes, more casual than her usual fare, her silky black hair pulled back loosely. There was always a breath held for a moment, when Madeline opened the building’s door and disappeared. It only lasted for a minute. Likely Madeline was simply talking with one of the doormen, who were there twenty-four hours. Then, through the gallery’s glass walls, Madeline could be seen switching on lights and walking her gallery. She would pause to stare at the paintings and sculptures as if studying them for the first time. She would disappear again—this time into the back room, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. The torture of waiting could be exquisite. When she finally left, there was always the flattening of mood, the sadness that crept in. But Madeline would be back. Madeline could be watched again. Soon.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Watching Madeline Saga from outside her gallery had become an obsession. Just like Madeline also had an obsession—art.

Madeline was in her gallery all day. Then she would return at night, often wearing different clothes, more casual than her usual fare, her silky black hair pulled back loosely.

There was always a breath held for a moment, when Madeline opened the building’s door and disappeared. It only lasted for a minute. Likely Madeline was simply talking with one of the doormen, who were there twenty-four hours. Then, through the gallery’s glass walls, Madeline could be seen switching on lights and walking her gallery. She would pause to stare at the paintings and sculptures as if studying them for the first time.

She would disappear again—this time into the back room, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. The torture of waiting could be exquisite. When she finally left, there was always the flattening of mood, the sadness that crept in.

But Madeline would be back. Madeline could be watched again. Soon.

1

“I need you on something, Izzy,” Mayburn said, looking serious, his brown eyebrows pushed together.

“Can’t,” I answered without asking what the assignment was. I leaned back to give the waiter room to place our plates.

Mayburn continued to talk as if he hadn’t heard me, as if the waiter wasn’t between us. “It’s a part-time gig. Just part-time.”

I waited until the waiter finished.

“That’s nice,” I said to Mayburn. “But since I have a full-time job now…” My friend Maggie Bristol, who was also my boss, was pregnant and due in nearly a month. She needed me to take more responsibility at the criminal defense firm of Bristol & Associates, so I had little or no time for a freelance private investigation gig.

“You have to do it.” Mayburn bit into a lobster roll, then looked around the restaurant on North Sheffield. “When did all these damn fish places open in Chicago?”

“You don’t like your lobster roll?” I tasted my crab cake, which was delicious.

“It’s not that I don’t like the food.” He gestured around with his sandwich. “But when did every second bar start looking like a boathouse from northern Michigan?”

I glanced around. Kayaks, rowboats and oars hung from the ceiling, accented by netting and fishing poles.

“Anyway,” Mayburn said, putting his lobster roll on his plate. “This is an assignment only you can do.”