Unremarkable

The painting was unremarkable. A lackluster landscape in muted tones. If she hadn’t been there to steal it, her eyes would have passed over the piece, never guessing its staggering worth.

But it wasn’t her job to question the merits of her acquisitions. Henry claimed the painting was his rightful inheritance, stolen from his family during the war. He contacted her rather than a lawyer, having seen more foolproof cases lose in court.

She eyed the painting as she plucked the scotch from Jeffrey’s hand. “I think you’ve had enough,” she said. His eyelids were already at half-mast. She intended to put him to sleep, not poison him. Unfortunately, she had grown fond of Jeffrey, his easy grin and wry humor. This would have been easier if she were a bit more sociopathic.

“Congratulations,” he said, eyes shutting.

“For what?” Her heart faltered.

“Caught you staring at it yesterday.” His words were slurred. “Tell Henry he could have just asked.”

She watched his chest slowly rise and fall, unsure whether to be comforted or disturbed by this proclamation. Then she tucked a blanket around him before lifting the painting off the wall.

She locked the door on her way out.