Stealing the Countess Read Online Free

tour of Independence Hall at 10:00 A.M. nine days ago. He saw me looking at it.
    â€œWanted to see where it all began,” Donatucci said. “Liberty Bell is a lot smaller than I thought it’d be.” He dismissed the literature with a gesture. “Shoulda done it years ago. When I was young.”
    I might have said something consolatory about age and never being too old, only he was gazing at a photograph of his wife at the time, and I let it slide.
    Instead of in the dining room, Donatucci sat me at his empty kitchen table. His age and employment status notwithstanding, he must have maintained his contacts, because he was able to carefully stack copies of reports from the Bayfield Police Department, the Bayfield Sheriff’s Department, the Wisconsin Division of Criminal Investigation, and even the FBI in a neat pile in front of me. He also had a detailed statement given by Duclos to the investigators at Midwest Farmers. Taken together, they formed the basis of the story he told me …
    Twelve years ago, Duclos received a curious e-mail. A woman named Renée Peyroux wrote that the foundation she represented—that her family had established decades earlier—was in the process of purchasing a newly discovered Stradivarius violin known as the Countess Borromeo. She asked if he would be interested in playing it.
    This was not unusual. Two or three times a year, the Maestro received e-mails from people and organizations about the discovery of a Stradivarius. It was typical of someone who had achieved his status: two degrees from Juilliard, first violin and concertmaster with the National Symphony Orchestra in Washington, D.C., founding member of the Dresden Quartet, and sought-after soloist appearing with symphonies around the world. Most of the e-mails were wishful thinking if not utter nonsense. The exceptional genius and workaholic Antonio Stradivari created 540 violins—that the world has been able to catalog—of such notable and dazzling quality that they’re still considered to be the finest musical instruments ever built 280 years following his death. People have been discovering them in the dusty corners of attics and at flea markets ever since.
    Yet Renée’s e-mail was legitimate. The Georges and Adrienne Peyroux Foundation for the Arts did acquire the Countess Borromeo, it did loan her to Duclos with virtually no conditions amid much fanfare, and he did play her on many of the world’s greatest stages. He actually won a Grammy for the classical music album Songs of the Countess. At the same time, he was busy wooing the fabulously wealthy Renée Marie Peyroux. Two years after they met, Duclos and Renée married. They were in their early fifties at the time, and it was the first marriage for both of them; she kept her maiden name. When Georges and Adrienne passed within six months of each other, the couple settled in the Twin Cities, where Renée grew up, and she took control of the foundation. A couple of years later, Duclos became a soloist and artistic partner with the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra.
    The SPCO was the only full-time professional chamber orchestra in the country, performing 130 concerts a year and enjoying two million weekly radio listeners. It was in the middle of its summer tour when the Maestro received a call. Would Bayfield, Wisconsin’s favorite son consider playing in the city’s Concert in the Park Series? Duclos happily accepted the invitation. It sounded like fun.
    â€œThat’s what he told me, too,” I said. “That it was supposed to be fun.”
    Donatucci ignored my interruption and was about to continue reciting his story when I stopped him again.
    â€œWhen was the call made?” I asked.
    â€œTwo weeks before the concert. The scheduled act had to cancel, and someone said, ‘Hey, why don’t we call the great Maestro? What could it hurt?’”
    The Bayfield appearance had fit neatly into