“Lacquer,” she said after a moment.
Selina arched one eyebrow.
“Shiny lacquer boxes with bright-colored pictures,” Bonnie elaborated. “I ask myself a question and I see an answer. Now I see a shiny box with a picture of a fairy tale on it. Somewhere I must’ve learned about lacquer boxes coming from Russia being valuable.” She shrugged helplessly, as if the process was as mysterious to her as it was to Selina.
For her part, Selina looked down at the flawless crossword puzzle. She was on the verge of a concussion when Bonnie snatched the newspaper away.
“Oo—wait. Not lacquer.” She thrashed through the paper, making a mess, which, at least, was something Selina could identify with. “Icons. Icons—here. Look.” She tapped her finger on a grainy photograph.
Bruce Wayne, the caption read, of the Wayne Foundation, had loaned the art museum a rare and priceless seventeenth-century icon. Mr. Wayne said he’d found the luminous portrait of St. Olga in one of his grandfather’s travel trunks during a routine cleaning of his mansion’s attics.
“Liar,” Selina muttered on impulse, then noticed the searching stare on Bonnie’s face. “He’s just fronting for the police,” she said quickly, not wanting to remain under the other woman’s scrutiny. “You haven’t lived in Gotham long enough, but the Wayne Foundation’s always suckin’ up to the city.”
“Wow. I was going to go and see it. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s too dangerous. But there aren’t many examples of good seventeenth-century Russian iconography in the West. I really should go; it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”