Read psychic crystal 03 - killer cruise for Free Online Page A

evil but eerily familiar presence ushered a chill into the room, sucking all the air out, leaving the atmosphere still and rancid.
    “Well, all right,” he sighed, relenting in a melodious and mesmerizing voice, while dismissing them with all the hospitality of a gnat. “Then take a look around, if you must. See if there are any pieces that interest you. If you identify any you’d like to know more about, come back tomorrow and talk to another one of our art auctioneers. Our auction will be held next Saturday afternoon in this same place, but until then we can place a hold on the paintings you select. Just fill out these cards with your names and cabin numbers, and we’ll reserve the paintings for you.”
    “How does the auction work?” Juliette wanted to know. “What did you say your name was?”
    The man paused and grew more irritable. “I didn’t. But it’s, uh, Wade. Wade Randall.”
    “Do you have a card?” Juliette inquired.
    “No,” Wade barked abruptly. “I’m currently cataloging our collection to get it ready for the auction. I need to get back to the work I was doing before I was interrupted.”
    “Can we find out how the process works?” Juliette pressed.
    The man shifted uncomfortably, hesitating. “Well, uh, our auctioneer will display each painting in front of the room, you’ll raise your card, and he’ll call out the price. Then, after we’ve finalized the sale, we’ll reserve your painting and package it and send it to your house a month or so after the cruise.”
    “What if someone else wants to bid on it?” Kate asked.
    “Well, that’s all handled in advance. The painting is yours. You will fill out the paperwork, handle payment, and we’ll mail it out.”
    Kate continued to flip through the stack of paintings.
    “Are these Picassos?” she asked.
    “Good eye,” Wade said, scowling. “How did you know?”
    “Well, I majored in art history in college. I’m an art lover, and my family collects—collected—art. I recognize his style, and I can see his signature on the paintings.”
    “Oh, of course,” Wade said, his hands fluttering nervously, before they settled on his hips.
    He stood in front of the paintings for a minute, until Kate elbowed her way around him to peruse the stack further. The artwork ranged from flawless landscapes to portraits. Besides the Picassos, there were Monets, Chagalls, a very nice Vermeer, an obscure Jan van Eyck, an “unfinished” Cézanne, even a Rembrandt— View of the Sea of Galilee —a fine Matisse, an Old Master—a priceless Raphael?—and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a still life by van Gogh, Vase of Poppies . What were these gems doing on a cruise ship in the middle of the Atlantic?
    Overcome, Kate’s hand flew to her throat. “Are these authentic? Or are they copies?”
    “Which one did you have in mind?”
    “Well, this Chagall, for instance,” Kate said, holding up the painting. “These colors are marvelous. I don’t think I’ve seen this suite of his before.”
    “It is very beautiful, but beauty is expensive. That painting is…” Wade frowned.
    “Out of my price range?” Kate smiled.
    “Out of most people’s price range, I imagine.”
    Kate studied the painting.
    “Are we talking $100,000?” Kate ventured.
    Wade narrowed his eyes.
    “Impressive. That would be about right, Miss—”
    “Crystal, Katherine Crystal, or rather, Katherine Crystal Hale now,” Kate said. “My parents owned two Chagalls, very similar to this, but, well, I believe the third in the series was stolen from the Musée National Marc Chagall in Nice some years back.”
    “I wouldn’t know anything about that. You must be mistaken, Miss Hale. We do not trade in stolen art.”
    Kate pressed her lips together. “Is it for sale, Mr. Randall?”
    “I’m afraid these have all been pre-sold. Can I interest you in another one of our artists? We have some beautiful landscapes you and your sister might enjoy.”
    “Wade,” Kate began,