Getting stranded in Atlanta after Victor’s death and hooking up with a ruthless crew got us into this mess.
I run to the MARTA turnstile with my adopted uncle, Roman, close behind me. He carries Edward Hopper’s Girl at Sewing Machine rolled in a tube under his arm. He yells, “Spilt pea,” tosses me the stolen painting in a perfect fake-pass move, and diverts to the right toward the elevator. Security from the art gala, including Arthur’s heist and event coordinator, Savannah, chases Roman. I take the escalator two steps at a time, glance over my shoulder and see Amazonian Savannah lunge and take down Roman. As I overtake a university student, I lift a hoodie from her Georgia State University emblem tote. Boarding the train, I stand in the wheelchair accessible area and slip the painting between my knees, thankful for the front split in my long sequin skirt, and put on the hoodie. I reposition the tube under an arm and tie my skirt above my knees. I spy Savannah’s head top the escalator, then her sturdy body. The over-processed blonde hair with blue tips—even in the harsh fluorescent lighting—is unmistakable. I shield my face with the hoodie and slide into a seat as the doors shut. I can’t resist and look up. Savannah flips me the bird inches from the plexiglass window.
It takes twenty minutes to arrive at the Chamblee Station. No call from Roman.
He had exemplified his road-manager genius by anticipating a double cross by Arthur’s crew. He gave me the key fob in the stairwell at the gala, along with a taser, and advised me he’d parked a rental at this station.
I haven’t a clue what make or model the rental is but it’s close to midnight and only a few cars dot the lot. I find the car in aisle E-6. I check the trunk. Two suitcases. I open them, finding several changes in clothes, toiletries, my red wig, cash, and my expired passport. Because of an accident on Peachtree Road and a lane shutdown, it takes another forty-five minutes to drive to our storage unit located on Roswell Road near I-85.
No call from Roman. Is he in police custody or is Arthur or, God forbid, Felipe holding him?
Victor’s death has left Roman and me without our true north. If anything happens to Roman, it will be my fault. Why did I think I could work with Arthur, a man without scruples, and this guy, Felipe, who tried to force himself on me in the bathroom at our initial meeting? It didn’t make sense that Victor had directed us to complete the heist without him the day before his fatal heart attack. I miss his wit and theatrical verbiage. I miss my Uncle Roman.
I call Roman’s cell. It goes to voicemail. I stash the painting in the storage unit and pace for thirty minutes, then I call Sadye, my nemesis and Roman’s new woman-friend. I don’t trust her, but I need help to locate Roman.
“Have you heard from Roman?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
“No. Get your butt over here. I’m not the addled old woman you think I am. When Roman didn’t call me, as agreed, by 11 p.m., I called in some favors. He’s not being held by local or state law enforcement or a patient at any hospital. My son’s working on some other leads and I’m waiting to hear from my FBI contact.” I’m not sure whether I’m stunned because Roman has confided in her or because she has contacts.
I know Sadye as a locker room matron from a local gym. She drives a rattletrap Chevette and hums spirituals. I don’t like her. We have a history. Accusing me of stealing a watch from a locker and demanding “my kind”—meaning Roma— keep moving on, away from Atlanta, taints my opinion of her. I shake my head every time I think about my uncle dating her. Sure, they share a love of cooking, but Roman’s sexual attractions tend toward busty barmaids ten years younger than he is. Beanpole Sadye must be ten years his senior. Besides, she works with my Hernando, bakes him pies.
Hernando is the maintenance man at the gym, a single father, and the master forger of the Edward Hopper. I adore him, but our recent breakup makes me hesitate to call him. To complicate matters, Felipe is Hernando’s brother and he hates Roman.
I park in front of Sadye’s Cabbagetown shotgun house. She comes outside on the porch and motions me inside, waving a semi-automatic that gleams in the moonlight. I flinch. We never use guns, but Roman will protect me with his life. I touch the taser in my lap. He won’t reveal the location of the painting. I have no idea what to do next, except find my dear uncle by any means necessary.
The Forty Knots Burn
Genre: Suspense
Release: January 2022
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A con artist trio are stuck in Atlanta without funds when the oldest member has a heart attack and suddenly dies. Clara Shannesy Blythe and her adopted uncle, Roman, are crushed at their mentor’s death, but she must take over the reins of a cutthroat crew and pull off the risky art heist of an Edward Hopper painting. She falls in love for the first time at twenty-seven and realizes too late that Hernando is the Hopper painting’s forger and his brother is the man trying to kill her.
Meet the author
Lynn Hesse is an award-winning author of the novels Well of Rage, Another Kind of Hero, and The Forty Knots Burn. Her short story “Bitter Love,” a humorous view of a homicide detective having a bad day, appeared in Crimeucopia, The I’s Have It by Murderous Ink Press, United Kingdom, 2021. She lives in Stone Mountain, Georgia with her husband and his six feral cats and performs in several dance troupes.
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