Gallery of Gangsters (Driftwood Mysteries Book 4)

A deadly secret hides behind a masterpiece.

When Michelle Garrison walks away from her job at a high-end New York art auction house, she hopes a quiet gallery in Driftwood, Oregon will give her a chance to disappear. But the anonymous bidder known only as “1848” is not finished with her.

Detectives Charley Whitehorse and Tony Esperanza are drawn into a case that reaches far beyond the art world. Their investigation leads back to Vasily Volkov, the ruthless head of the largest Russian crime syndicate in the Pacific Northwest, who is using priceless paintings to launder counterfeit money and finance a dangerous political conspiracy.

As Michelle becomes the target of Volkov’s lethal “Angel of Death,” Charley and Tony must uncover a trail of murder, corruption, and deception before the final pieces fall into place. In Gallery of Gangsters, the hunt for the truth turns deadly—and the clock is running out.

Discover Gallery of Gangsters today.

Excerpt from the book

In for a Penny, in for a Pound

MONDAY, AUGUST 26, 2019. The painting looked as though it would leap from the canvas. Immense whorls of black and white and yellow seemed to move, storm-like, threatening to engulf anyone who gazed upon the painting too long, an abstract Medusa ready to turn an observer to stone. At seventy-two inches by forty-eight inches, the masterpiece dominated the auction house, as it hung on its frame to the right of the auctioneer. To the left of the rostrum was the phone bank, a jury box of art house staff, all holding phones glued to their ears, ready to listen to the anonymous bidders on the lines, all the while focused on the auctioneer and the escalating sums he would demand. On the rear wall, large screens opened on rooms in London, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and San Francisco, live streaming the event for online bidding.

In front of the oak podium were several rows of cushioned chairs, each occupied by a man or woman exquisitely dressed, the men in dark suits and ties, the women in evening gowns which accentuated the diamonds sparkling at their throats. These were the elite of New York City. Each held a small, numbered paddle, their weapon of choice in the battle to win the one-of-a-kind item before them, a painting to grace the wall of their study or sitting room, to satisfy their lust for exclusivity, for ownership of something no one else had. For that private pleasure, they were willing to exchange enormous wealth.

The auctioneer, Arthur Mitterand, smiled as he stood behind the broad lectern. He had the face of a television evangelist, movie-star good looks framed by perfectly coiffed dark hair. His bespoke black suit and blue silk tie suggested he might be dining out at a very fine restaurant tonight, perhaps martinis and oysters, after he had accomplished his pecuniary duties. He preached the gospel of big money to his eager acolytes.

“Now we have Lot 34, Hurricane, by Khudozhnik, who, as you know, has just completed a solo exhibition in Moscow, to critical acclaim. We will start the bidding at two million.”

Several paddles in the room went up. “Two million. Two million five hundred thousand. Three.” Mitterand raised his eyes to the screens. “London says three million five. San Francisco enters at four. And our phones are busy. Michelle says five. Back to the room.” The auctioneer pointed at a man near the rear of the salon. “Five five to you, sir.”

After the initial flurry of activity and the meteoric rise of the bidding, the action slowed down, as if all engaged were reassessing their bank accounts. When the amount hit twenty million, the online bids ceased, and the room became quiet.

“Would you like to come back in, London?” Mitterand asked. Then he surveyed the room. “Any from the floor?” When he received no response, he said, “Fair warning. The bid is twenty million dollars, American.”