I still had to figure out just how to finish the Logan Street investigation, and I’d told Isobel I would talk to Dirk again, too. But no matter how many times I asked him about the Black Rose painting, or what I threatened to tell his fellow jocks, Dirk kept quiet. “You’ll never find it,” he insisted, trying his best to sound all scary and foreboding. “I destroyed it.” I even threatened to track down his father and share the truth of his macho jock son’s true artistic sensibilities. That made Dirk pause a little, and I thought I’d gotten through, but then he clammed up. I guess he figured out that I didn’t really care enough either way to go through all that effort. Still, I wished I had more definitive news about the painting. I couldn’t help thinking that if Dirk had truly destroyed it, he wouldn’t be so secretive about the details of its fate. Since he was so annoyingly unhelpful, I decided to snoop on my own. Unfortunately, there weren’t that many places in the art room to stash a canvas.
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