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wanted more than anything for the painting not to fall into the Nazis’ hands, so he arranged things with Mr. Milner.”
    I was beginning to see things a little more clearly. “And your father paid Milner to help get your valuables, including the painting, out of the country.”
    “Yes.”
    “And that’s the last time you saw the Matisse.”
    She nodded, a pained expression on her face.
    “What happened to Milner?” I asked.
    “We never heard from him again.”
    “I’m not surprised.”
    “It’s easy to say that now, but when you’re desperate…” Her voice trailed off.
    A long silence ensued. “I’m not sure I can help,” I finally said.
    “We didn’t know what happened to the Adlers,” she went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “The Jews that escaped the Nazis went to many different countries. We’d heard the Adlers were going to Canada, but we had no way of knowing what happened. But then, to our surprise, they called us a few months ago. They’re living in New York, and they tracked us down. And we found out they had the same thing happen with their valuables. They’d hired Mr. Milner to get a Picasso and some jewels out of Austria for them. They paid him and he took their things. He was supposed to ship it all to America, but they never heard from him.”
    I shrugged. “I’m sorry. That kind of thing happened a lot during the war.”
    She nodded. “That’s true. The Nazis, and others, stole a lot of valuable artwork during the war. And like others, we’d come to accept that we wouldn’t see the painting again. We started a new life here. My father began a medical practice, and he’s been very successful. He has money again. We try not to think of the past. But then a week ago, he thinks he saw Milner.”
    I perked up at that. “Where? Here in town?”
    “Yes. My father was at dinner downtown. When he left, he saw Milner across the street.”
    “Where?”
    “Near the Woolworths.”
    “Your father’s sure he saw this man Milner?”
    “Yes,” she said. “He’s here in town, and I want you to see if you can find him and find out what happened to the Matisse.”
    I hesitated. “He had to have sold the painting. It’s gone.”
    “I know. But if we can locate Milner, perhaps he can be charged for the theft. What he did was wrong.” She spoke harshly, ice in her tone.
    I got out a cigarette and lit it, then blew gray smoke into the air. “I can make some inquiries, but this isn’t going to be easy. Milner could’ve just been visiting town.”
    “I’m prepared to pay you, so if you are unsuccessful, isn’t that my problem?”
    I exhaled more smoke, then said, “Okay, if you say so.”
    “I want justice, Mr. Webb.”
    Don’t we all , I thought.
    “Please, Mr. Webb. I know this may not succeed, but I have to try. For my parents.”
    “Okay,” I finally said.
    We agreed on a fee, and I had her sign some paperwork.
    “What does Milner look like?” I asked.
    “I never met him,” she said. “But my father said he’s kind of tall, with dark brown hair.”
    That description could’ve fit just about any man in Denver. I sighed. “I’ll call you when I know something. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
    “That will be fine,” she said and then left.
    I wrote her number down in a notepad I carried with me, and then I sat back and dragged on my cigarette. I watched the smoke curl up and disappear. Just like her painting, I suspected.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Reed – 2015
     
    I looked up from Dewey’s journal, sat back and let the sun warm me as I thought through what I’d read. Rachel Cohen’s story had all the intrigue of a thriller novel. It certainly looked like Milner had stolen the Matisse from her family, unless he really had tried unsuccessfully to find the Cohens once they’d immigrated to the United States. I doubted that.
    And what about now? Sixty years had passed. The painting could be anywhere, and it wasn’t likely anyone could track it down. People were still