The Sky of Endless Blue

by Ava Miles

  “Helps you understand what to look for,” Meredith finished for him.

  He tossed her a red hot. “Okay, hot shot. Why don’t you come with me? We can interview Trevor together.”

  Tanner stood and nodded. “I’ll get started. We can brief each other when you guys return.”

  Meredith ducked out, but he knew she was just grabbing her steno book and her purse. He tugged his coat off the rack and slapped a hat on his head. Damn if this March cold wasn’t chilling his bones.

  “You ready, Grandpa?” Meredith asked, crunching on the candy as she came back in.

  He grabbed his infernal cane and walked toward her, happy to feel his legs were solid. “Always.”

  She took his elbow. “Just like old times.”

  As they walked out, he memorized the moment, from the way the newsroom buzzed to the touch of baby powder Meredith had on her, likely from changing his great-grandson.

  Yes, it was just like old times, and he hoped he and Meredith would have many, many more of them together. He remembered J.T. asking him why he refused to cut back on his hours or step away from the paper.

  This is why he came to work every day.

  Chapter 11

  J.T. wished he’d never heard the name Cynthia Newhouse.

  After Caroline had left, he’d gone to the closest Sur La Table intent on buying her some fine coffee. He’d found the coffee, but he’d also come back with a top-of-the-line Breville Espresso machine along with some hazelnut gelato. Maybe they could eat it for breakfast tomorrow as they’d done in Rome.

  Then, to his shock, Caroline had come home. Her story had come out in a few gushes, and his hand had tightened around his coffee cup so much, it was a miracle of engineering the thing didn’t shatter. His worst fear had come true. Caroline had gotten hurt because of him. More than hurt, she’d been fired. From the sound of it, her reputation might suffer, but he pledged that her career would not. No, she was going to be the curator for a museum as acclaimed as the Met or the MoMA if he had anything to say about it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. The words sounded so piteously small, he added, “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I swear I’ll make this up to you.”

  She shook her head, her face ashen. “It’s not your fault. Much as it galls me, some of it is mine. I wasn’t completely honest with Kendra, and I kinda got caught in a lie.”

  He wasn’t buying that. “I don’t think—”

  “Of course, I realize most people don’t tell their bosses they’re scoping out new jobs, but none of that matters now. Regardless, it sucks.”

  That was putting it mildly. “Big time.”

  “I don’t want you to feel guilty,” she said, touching the back of his hand. “You were sweet to buy me coffee and this machine, but it’s too much, J.T.”

  “Why wouldn’t I feel guilty?” he said, not willing to let her change the subject just yet. “My ex-wife just got you fired!”

  “But she was the one pulling the strings—not you.” She went over and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I didn’t have any at the gallery. Maybe I would have been more…with it or something if I’d had coffee. Oh, crap, this is just… I’m a little shell-shocked. All the way home I kept thinking, I just got fired. How in the hell did that happen? Then I’d be like what are you going to do now? Honestly, J.T., this isn’t how I expected today to go.”

  Last night had been so wonderful for both of them, and Cynthia had found a way to infiltrate it. To sour the day they’d first pledged their love to each other. “Me either. I don’t know what to say to you. What can I do? Did I tell you I bought some hazelnut gelato too?”

  “Crap, that’s going to make me cry. I think I need to get out of here. Go to my family. But I’m shaking too much to drive. Moira said she’d come get me, but you’re here—”

  “Of course I’ll take you home.”

  And so he was. He spent the whole drive trying to think of some way to make it right, but he just couldn’t. As they drove into Dare Valley, the endless expanse of sky somehow failed to raise his spirits like it usually did.

  Calypso had brought the storm.

  “Do you want me to talk to Kendra?” he finally asked. “I don’t know that I can convince her to give you your job back, but if it’s what you want, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”

  She didn’t turn and look at him. In fact, she’d been downright quiet, and he’d let her stew.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t think that will do any good. Besides, Kendra won’t ever trust me again. What you can do is get this museum going. When do you expect to put out the announcement?”

  Shit. Double damn shit. J.T. continued to swear in his head. He hadn’t told her about Trev’s call earlier, not wanting to spoil their first morning together. Cynthia had struck twice today, and given the catastrophic fallout of her first attack, he had a bad feeling about the game she was playing with President Matthau.

  “There’s something I need to look into, and then I can tell you more,” he said, cruising down Main Street.

  She darted him a nervous look, and he had to lock his jaw not to spill everything. But she had enough to deal with right now, and his news would only make her feel worse.

  The city streets were freshly shoveled, it looked like. They must have had a dusting of snow last night. The day was cold, but the sun was out. Some people were bundled up in winter coats while a few brave—or crazy—people were running around in nothing but long sleeves and shorts.

  “We haven’t had lunch,” he said, eyeing the time. “I know it’s close to three, but maybe we should grab some takeout. I could call that clown again and have him juggle while we have a sandwich. What do you think?”

  She made a soft sound before replying, “I couldn’t eat anything.”

  “Okay,” he said, hoping his stomach wouldn’t grumble.

  His body always let him know when it needed to be fed, whether he had an appetite or not. He wanted to mother-hen Caroline, but he didn’t want to push her. Not now.

  “Do you want to come back to my house?” he asked. “Trev will make himself scarce. Unless you want him to express his outrage for you.”

  “I’ll have plenty of that since I called both of my sisters on my way home from work. I told them to spread the word.”

  “I hope they kick my ass,” he said, wishing it would make him feel better if they did.

  “I told you that it’s not your fault,” she said. “Now, why don’t you drop me off at my mom’s house? I think…”

  Her voice broke for the first time all day. Her numbness was wearing off. Man, he felt like shit.

  “Your mother’s it is,” he said, turning off the main drag for Aspen Street.

  He knew where everyone in the extended Hale clan lived, and they’d been great to him. Would they feel differently now that he’d hurt Caroline, even if inadvertently? Then he realized Jill Hale would know. They called her the town crier in the family, and for good reason. She liked to talk, but since she was so funny and cheerful, no one seemed to mind.

  When he pulled into April Hale’s driveway, he gripped the wheel, trying to control his emotions. They’d just become intimate, and here he was, dropping her off at her mom’s house to get some TLC because his ex-wife had gotten her fired. What a bunch of—

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Your ears are red, and you look about to explode.”

  He wanted to gulp in air, but that would be obvious. “It’s you I’m worried about. Caroline—”

  “No,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “Stop the self-recriminations and guilt. I…can’t take it right now. I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame you. I’m going to go in. I’ll…ah…call you later. Okay?”

  When she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, he got a hold of himself and took her in his arms.

  “I love you,” he said against her hair. “Remember that.”

  “And I you,” she said, forcing a smile when she pulled away and exited
the car.

  He helped her with the suitcase she’d packed and almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his back.

  Turning, he saw April Hale standing there with sad blue eyes, her other hand on her daughter’s back. Then the two were hugging, and he stood silently watching, letting the cold wind blow over him.

  The scene made him think of his own family. His marriage and divorce had hurt some of his most treasured relationships. His father was still disappointed in him while a couple of his siblings were angry he’d let a woman they disapproved of get close enough to hurt everything they’d worked for. Trev was his only constant, likely because he was so mule-headed.

  He’d hoped to forge a new life here in Dare Valley, to leave all of the old hurts behind, but they’d followed him as surely as his shadow.

  “I’ll see you later,” Caroline said, and then she and her mother went inside together while he stood there, helpless, and watched.

  He got back in his car and sped all the way home, needing to open up the road a little to expend some frustration.

  When he pulled into the garage and went into the house, he pulled out his phone and saw that Uncle Arthur had called him. Had he heard the news too? Of course he had.

  Trev was waiting for him in the kitchen when he came into the house. “You look like someone sucker punched the everlasting crap out of you.”

  “You should see the other guy,” he joked and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I got her fired.”

  “No, Sin City did that,” Trev said, planting his giant feet in front of him. “I knew you were going to take this on. Man, this is not your fault. It’s hers. I’m not saying this doesn’t suck colossal balls, but you need to keep your chin up.”

  He rose and looked at his brother. “Trev, we just slept together! And it was wonderful. The best night of my life. And now this! How is Caroline going to be able to…trust me now? Everything around me gets hurt.”

  Trev shook him. “Stop this! You and I have had some pretty bad days, and this is certainly one of them. But what do we always do?”

  He’d always appreciated his brother using “we” when he talked like this. “We get back up.”

  “And we fight back,” Trev said in a hard tone. “Go hit something for a while or go for a run or whatever, but get it out. Look, Caroline was planning on leaving her job anyway. Does it suck that it was like this and earlier than planned? Yeah. But let’s keep our eyes on the prize. We need to figure out what Sin City is up to with the university president and stop her.”

  “I love her, Trev. I told her this morning. From the moment I laid eyes on her at the gallery… I told Grandpa Emmits she was the one.” Somehow he’d known he could tell his grandpa his most secret thoughts.

  “You’ve been talking to ghosts?” Trev said, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the den, where the painting hung. “That creeps me out. How long has this been going on?”

  “I’ve been talking to his painting,” J.T. said, feeling compelled to point out the difference. “You know how much I admire him. And when I was…depressed during the divorce and visiting the house in Napa, I’d get drunk in the office and talk to him. It…made me feel better.”

  Trevor went scary still.

  “Do you think that’s weird?” he asked.

  “No, I think that’s just the kind of thing you’d do,” his brother said slowly. “You always used to imagine what the people in portraits were thinking, what their lives were like.”

  Sensitive, his mother had said at times. Maybe she was right. “The museum was my new dream. Then I met Caroline—”

  “And you hoped to ride off into the sunset with her,” Trev said. “I get it, J.T. Although you suck on horseback. Remember that time we were supposed to go riding in Napa?”

  “The horse licked me. What can I say?” He pointed to his suit. “I was particular about my clothes even then. Didn’t want horse spit all over them. Good of you to remind me.”

  His brother smiled. “Just keeping it real.”

  No, Trev was trying to keep him afloat, just like he always did. A wave of gratitude helped displace some of his despair. “Thanks.”

  “All right, enough of this walk down horse-spit lane. We have a problem, and we need some help. Have you called Uncle Arthur yet?”

  “No, I didn’t have the time. But he called me.”

  “He showed up here too, with Meredith, but I told him the four of us should talk together. I suggested he run an errand or get some coffee at Don’t Soy With Me until you got here. Do you know what he said?”

  J.T. expected it was a doozy.

  Trev smiled. “He didn’t like froufrou coffee laced with raspberries and topped with whipped cream like a fruit salad. He’s a hoot. Why don’t you call him, J.T., or do I have to do everything? Maybe you need to confer with Grandpa’s painting?”

  He snorted. “I guess cleaning up isn’t on your to-do list,” J.T. said, pointing to the kitchen counter. “Couldn’t you throw away your pizza box?”

  “At least I got rid of all the strippers I had over,” he said deadpan. “Call him and put him on speaker.”

  J.T. shrugged out of his jacket and did just that. Uncle Arthur picked up on the first ring, his growl audible.

  “It’s about damn time,” he barked. “Did you have high tea with the queen or something?”

  “I was driving Caroline back,” he said. “She—”

  “Got fired because of your punk-ass ex-wife,” he finished, causing Trevor to laugh. “Why do you think I showed up to talk to Trevor?” He mumbled something J.T. couldn’t make out. “Meredith said to ask if we could come over, now that we’ve finished twiddling our thumbs. You took long enough that Tanner’s free to come too.”

  “Are you planning on dressing me down in front of witnesses?” He was joking. Kind of.

  “Dress you down? Boy, I’m trying to help you with this Sin City woman.”

  “Come over then. Bring a guillotine if you like.”

  “Guillotine, my ass,” he heard the older man growl and then the line went dead.

  “I love him,” Trev said, shaking his head in apparent delight. “I want to be that spry and ornery when I’m that age.”

  Thirty minutes later, the trio of reporters was standing in the kitchen while Trevor made everyone coffee. Well, everyone except Uncle Arthur, who’d complained he’d never sleep if he had another cup of joe.

  J.T.’s stomach grumbled, and Uncle Arthur lowered his gaze to stare at it.

  “You swallow some wooly mammoth in Denver?” he asked, pulling out a handful of red hots and passing them around. “All right, feed your monster while I tell you what Meredith and I learned.”

  Trevor threw him a banana, and since J.T. had noticed Uncle Arthur was leaning heavily on his cane, he suggested they all sit down in the den. The older man grumbled, but J.T. heard him sigh when he sat down and rested his cane by his knee. His eyes tracked to the painting of Grandpa Emmits hanging above the fireplace, and his gaze lingered there for a moment before he shifted it to J.T. There was fire there.

  “You have any paintings stolen by the Nazis in this collection of yours? Can’t say I imagine Emmits would ever buy anything fishy, but from what I understand, folks don’t always know what they have. Forged bills of sale and the like are common enough.”

  J.T. had to choke down the last of the banana. “That’s her line?” he asked, throwing the peel on the coffee table because he needed to throw something. “Of all the—”

  “No need for antics, boy. A simple yes or no will do.”

  J.T. crossed his arms. “Sorry, it’s been a bad day. No, we don’t have any stolen Nazi paintings. Give me some credit.”

  Uncle Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You sure? There’s never been any accusation or—”

  “We had one, we discovered,” he said. “I had our lawyers locate the family, and we returned it. So she’s making accusations, is she? What have you been hearing?”

  “It
’s early yet, and I’ve only been on this for a little over an hour, but it’s not good,” Uncle Arthur said, looking over at Meredith, who was standing next to her husband with her arms crossed.

  “I don’t have any first-hand information, mind you,” Arthur said, “but it seems President Matthau has asked a couple of art history professors I know to look into the provenance of the paintings in the Merriam collection to see if any were stolen by the Nazis.”

  J.T. stood up. “This is incredible! I would never, ever keep a painting I knew belonged to someone else. Certainly not a stolen one. We returned that painting the minute—”

  “Calm down, J.T.,” Trev said, kicking out his feet. “This is how she works. She probably suggested you got caught and had to do the right thing. And if there was one dirty painting, maybe there are more. Would the university want to take the chance? It’s bad press and all that.”

  Oh, how the spider spins her web. Trev was right. He could almost hear her boarding school accent laying it on thick, so cultured and so very convincing. “But I have the provenance! Doesn’t President Matthau know she’s my ex-wife? Obviously she’s interested in frying my balls.”

  “Eww,” Meredith said. “Thanks for the image. Yes, I imagine President Matthau knows exactly who she is. Certainly the art professors Grandpa visited are aware. I imagine she’s telling Matthau she’s privy to secrets no one else knows.”

  “Exactly,” Tanner agreed. “She probably claimed she spilled the beans out of a guilty conscience, because she’s a philanthropist and art lover herself. Blah-blah-blah.”

  “You don’t even know her, and you’re already onto her game,” J.T. said.

  “Dirt is dirt,” Tanner said.

  Yeah, it sure as hell was. He sank back onto the couch. “Why not ask me for the provenance directly? The board of trustees never asked for it under the old president.”

  “Because this Matthau fellow doesn’t know or trust you,” Uncle Arthur said. “This museum wasn’t his baby, you see. He’s inheriting it from his predecessor, one he didn’t like, mind you.”