Stealing the Countess Read Online Free Page A

Duclos’s calendar. The SPCO had a performance scheduled at the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts in Milwaukee on Tuesday night. He would drive to Bayfield, arriving on Wednesday afternoon, play the concert Thursday evening, and drive the two hours to Duluth, Minnesota, Friday morning, arriving with plenty of time to rejoin the SPCO and rehearse for that evening’s performance at Symphony Hall.
    The Maestro arrived early Wednesday afternoon as scheduled, stopping at City Hall as requested, where he was welcomed as a conquering hero. “Those were his words, not mine,” Donatucci said.
    The mayor was there to greet him, as were members of the common council, the chamber of commerce, and the visitors’ bureau that had arranged the concert. He was led to the New Queen Anne Victorian Mansion Bed and Breakfast, where he was installed in the Queen Anne Suite on the third floor, the best room in the house, with a splendid view of the city. Afterward, he was treated to dinner at the Hill House Restaurant, where he was reacquainted with several old friends.
    â€œWhere was the violin during all of this?” I asked.
    â€œLocked in his room at the B&B.”
    Thursday afternoon, Duclos met with Geoff Pascoe, the man who would accompany him during the concert. Pascoe was also a local boy, born and raised in Superior, Wisconsin. Duclos liked him, said he had nice technique. After the rehearsal, Duclos left Bayfield to clear his head. “His words, again.”
    â€œThe Countess?” I asked.
    â€œHe took her with him.”
    â€œPeople never saw him carrying it around on the street, then.”
    â€œIf they did, it was only briefly.”
    Eventually, Duclos returned to Bayfield, and without much ado, the concert began. It was played from a large gazebo in the corner of Memorial Park between downtown Bayfield and the marina, with Lake Superior glistening beyond. It began at seven and lasted until after sunset, about nine. Several thousand people were there; there’s no way of knowing the exact number. Everyone was convinced, though, that it was the largest turnout ever for a Concert in the Park, and the biggest crowd to hit the city with the exception of its annual Apple Festival.
    Afterward, Duclos, Pascoe, and just about everyone who was anyone in Bayfield retired to the Hill House for an after-concert party. Duclos stayed until about eleven. He reminded his guests that he had to get up early the next day and drive to Duluth but thanked one and all for their kindness and generosity.
    Duclos and the Countess Borromeo returned to the Queen Anne. He went to bed. The next morning he rose early. He said he took a walk through the mostly empty streets of Bayfield. He returned to the B&B for breakfast at eight, went to his room, began to pack for his trip, and that’s when he discovered that the Stradivarius was missing.
    â€œWas it there before he took his walk?” I asked.
    â€œHe said he didn’t notice.”
    Duclos panicked. He called Connor Rasmussen, the owner of the Queen Anne, and together they called the police. Unfortunately, the Bayfield police officer who responded to the complaint was unimpressed, as indicated by the questions he asked. “How do you spell Stradivarius? What the fuck is a Stradivarius? How could a violin, I don’t care what it’s called, be worth four million dollars?”
    Fortunately, Rasmussen made a call to the Bayfield County sheriff, a man he knew personally, and explained what happened. The sheriff called the Bayfield chief of police. The Bayfield chief of police—his name was Jeremy Neville—called the officer on his cell phone. The conversation went something like this:
    â€œOfficer, this is Chief Neville. What do you have?”
    â€œGot a guy here says someone stole his fiddle.”
    â€œListen to me very carefully. This is not a fiddle. This is a fucking multimillion-dollar musical instrument. Secure the crime