by Sonia Parin
Eve remembered Helena’s remark about him not selling anything in a while...
“Perhaps he’s missing a muse. Hey, maybe that’s why his ex-wives are here. You know, spark off the old magic again.”
Jill shook her head. “There was something odd about that painting. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Are you up for some lunch? I’m buying. Maybe some food will help you think.”
“Sure,” Jill said, in an absent tone that suggested she was still immersed in the painting.
Eve pulled out her cell and did a quick search for the gallery representing Reginald Bryant Burns.
A website came up.
The gallery represented several artists and had a page for each one. She scrolled through to find a display of Reggie’s art.
Expensive, Eve thought.
She kept scrolling and came across some smaller works within her price range. A few minutes later, she sat there gazing at one that had caught her eye. It would cover Jill’s wall very nicely.
She emailed an expression of interest, made a deposit and mentally worked out when it would be convenient for her to drive in to the city to finalize the sale.
Chapter Seven
Eve grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and took them into the sitting room. “You’ve been very pensive and doing a thorough job of blending in with the couch. What’s going on, Jill? Are you still disappointed we didn’t catch sight of Reggie at lunch?” After dropping off the donuts at the lighthouse, they’d driven into town to have lunch and had walked the length of the main street looking for the artistic entourage, but they’d been nowhere to be found. Then Di, from The Chin Wag Café, had mentioned they’d ordered a picnic lunch and had gone trekking to the far end of the island.
“I’m thinking about my little paintings,” Jill said.
“Size doesn’t matter,” Eve assured her.
“Yeah, right. How am I ever going to become a serious artist if I can’t fill up more than a square foot of canvas? Did you see the size of Reginald’s canvas?”
Eve nodded. “How could I miss it?” This was the first time Jill had talked about being more ambitious. A good sign, Eve thought. “Sure, the canvas was large but it did nothing for me. All that empty space. I didn’t know what to look at. Maybe that was the whole point. Maybe I was supposed to gaze into empty space and ponder infinity.” She shook her head. “That type of art isn’t really for the masses. People like me need to know what they’re looking at.”
“It wasn’t finished,” Jill said. “And you do a good job of interpreting art. It’s instinctive. You feel your way into it.”
“I do that?”
“All the time. Give yourself some credit, Eve.”
Eve sat down next to Jill and handed her a glass of wine. “What I want to know is how Reggie boy gets up there. I don’t remember seeing any ladders. A canvas that size, you’d think he’d have some sort scaffolding in place. Now I’m thinking he probably uses a winch to get up to the top.” She tilted her head and tried to form a picture of the artist dangling from the ceiling. Eve laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m seeing Reggie in a new light. Humpty Dumpty. If he fell, he’d do more than crack his head open, he’d leave a hole the size of a crater on the floor.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a morbid sense of humor,” Jill said.
“It comes and goes.” Eve gazed out the French doors. “No stars tonight but plenty of clouds. I hope it doesn’t rain. I think I need to start a strict walking regimen.”
She studied her hands. After hauling that heavy piece of driftwood the other night, she’d expected to get blisters. Luckily they hadn’t come through but her skin still looked chafed and felt tender to the touch.
“I can’t imagine Reggie being a mentor to Brandon. He doesn’t strike me as the caring type. And you’d have to be caring and passionate about sharing. You know, the way teachers are.” Eve leaned back. “The more I think about it, the less I can picture Reggie in a nurturing way. Although, I don’t have any trouble seeing him belittling Brandon’s art.” She cleared her throat, and tried to do an impersonation of Reginald Bryant Burns, “You call that a line, that’s not a line, it’s a girly squiggle.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine him as a mentor either.” Jill took a sip of her wine. “Thanks for organizing the studio visit today.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It can’t have been easy to swallow your pride.”
“It wasn’t so bad. On the other hand, if Reggie had been there...” She shrugged. “I doubt I would’ve been able to hold back a growl. The man has a serious personality disorder.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t know about us going there today. Brandon McKay took a big risk sneaking us in.”
“Is that a dreamy expression I see in your eyes?”
Jill took a sip of her wine. “He’s cute.”
“Yes?”
“I like his hair.”
“And?”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing his work. I wonder if it looks like Reginald’s. It can happen when you admire someone’s work.”
“Yours doesn’t look anything like Reggie’s art.”
“It does a bit. There’s that atmospheric thing I’ve got going. I don’t want to think I’m copying him.”
“Even if there’s a slight resemblance, it’s not copying. Everyone is influenced by someone or other. And even if your art bore more than a slight resemblance to Reggie’s, it would still be yours. It’s like your fingerprints. No one has the same set. Or... or your handwriting. It’s all unique.”
“That’s just the sort of comment Mira would make,” Jill said.
“You couldn’t have paid me a better compliment.” Eve’s lips stretched into a wide smile. “I’m going to grab some cheese.”
“Have you given any more thought to what you’re going to do next?” Jill asked.
“Not much. I sort of gave up on the gallery idea. I wouldn’t last a day if I had to deal with temperamental artists like Reggie boy.”
“Maybe you should try your hand at writing.”
Eve laughed and came back with a platter of cheese. “First I’d have to become a reader. I’ve heard Mira say that in order to be a writer, you have to first be a reader. You also have to be passionate about it and I can’t say I’ve ever woken up in the middle of the night to jot down an idea. Mira does that all the time.”
Eve knew it would only be a matter of time before she found something she was passionate about, and that, she thought, was an essential ingredient... a necessary driving force for success.
“How do you feel about cats?” Jill asked.
“I’ve never given it any thought. I used to feed one that always seemed to be hanging around the alley behind the restaurant. And my neighbor back in New York has one. She’s a retired photographer and takes Missy out for walks on a cat leash. I can’t say that I ever gave it a scratch behind the ear. Why do you ask?”
“The island doesn’t have a pet boarding house. People go on vacation and they have to take their pets to the mainland. I’ve done the occasional pet sitting, so the demand is there.”
“I don’t know. What if I get attached and can’t let go?”
“It’s business, not personal.” Jill nibbled on a piece of cheese. “I don’t know if you realize it, but I’m trying to find something for you to do right here on the island so you don’t leave.”
Eve lifted her glass in a salute. “I’ve put your name on the pros list.” So far, she had Mira, Jill and Jack. Three excellent reasons for her to remain living on the island.
“I guess if you really want to stay, you’ll find a strong enough inducement.” Jill plumped up her cushion and sat back. “Did I thank you for organizing the studio visit today?”
“Yes, and I think you’ve had enough wine.”
“It’s strange, I thought Reginald’s studio would feel more magical. But it looked like a larger version of
mine. And it felt like mine.”
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to feel something when I walked into your studio,” Eve said.
“Not necessarily, but surely you’ve felt the frustration lingering in the air?”
“No. You always look so calm when you paint.”
“Yes, but inside, I’m agonizing over every brushstroke.”
“That’s because you’re a perfectionist and you won’t settle for less than the best.”
“And that’s usually when I start to doubt myself. So I take myself off for a walk.”
Eve laughed. “It all makes sense now. I don’t feel the frustration in your studio because you come here to unload it all.”
“And to eat.”
“I don’t want to get back to cooking professionally, but I do still enjoy the process of preparing a meal and feeding people.” Eve stretched her arms over her head and thought about her date with Jack. “I need some new clothes to wear. Something elegant. Jack’s seen everything I own now.”
“You think Jack is keeping a tally on what you wear?”
“He might be.”
“Men don’t think that way,” Jill said.
Her ex had. Alex’s clothes had taken up all her wardrobe space and they’d often squabbled about it.
“Accessorize,” Jill suggested.
“I suppose I could do that, but I’m not really into dangly bits and pieces. They get in the way and I always have to adjust things.”
“How does Jack feel about you not knowing if you’re going to stay or go?”
“We haven’t really talked about it.” Should she be worried? Did he maybe like the fact she didn’t plan on sticking around? She hadn’t really given much thought to where their relationship stood or where they were headed. So far, that had been a major appeal. Taking one day at a time.
“How about opening up a cooking school?”
Eve frowned. “That came out of nowhere.”
“I’m going to keep thinking about something worthwhile for you to do, until I come up with... something. Hey, we could have a brainstorming session. Right here, right now.”
“We’ve nearly polished off this bottle of wine. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Well, it’s too late for me to go home and it’s too early to turn in for the night.”
“Your parents are still planning their trip?”
“Yeah. Maybe I should start thinking about getting my own place. Now there’s another idea. There aren’t any options for non-homeowners on the island. Hey, you could open up a bed and breakfast or an inn. You wouldn’t have to do any of the cooking, you could hire someone.”
They both slumped back on the couch and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace. The night had been cool enough to light a fire. Eve had always enjoyed the coziness of a room warmed by a nice fire and had been looking forward to the weather cooling down.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour, the sound a light tinkle.
Ten o’clock. Despite all the food they’d eaten and the bottle of wine they’d been sipping, she was nowhere near sleepy.
“An inn,” Eve murmured. “You could work there too.”
“Doing what?” Jill asked.
“Artist in residence. You could teach art classes.”
“I’m not qualified to teach.”
“You don’t need a piece of paper to teach. Mostly, people just need encouragement. A fresh set of eyes. A new perspective. Hey, we could start an artists’ colony on the island. Have special weekends for amateur artists to meet and share ideas and talk about whatever artists talk about. And... I could feed them.”
The sound of heavy footfalls had both of them looking out the French doors.
“Did you hear that?” Jill asked.
Eve gave a brisk nod. “Someone’s out there.”
The steps got louder and suddenly stopped.
They both sat up, but neither one made a move to get up.
“Should we maybe take a peek to see who’s out there?” Jill’s voice was barely a whisper.
“I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?” Eve asked.
“The first time I met you, you’d chased after an intruder with a rolling pin.”
“Maybe I’ve learned my lesson. In fact, I think we should call the police.” She slid to the edge of the couch.
“Wait. I think I heard something.”
“More reason to call the police—” The sound of more footsteps had Eve swinging around. Calling for quiet, she signaled toward the front of the house.
Careful not to make a sound, they edged their way along the hallway. Eve pressed her ear to the front door. Frowning, she looked at Jill.
“What?” Jill mouthed.
“Heavy breathing,” Eve whispered.
“Do you think there’s someone out there making out?”
“That’s the first thought that came to your mind?”
Jill shrugged. “It’s possible.”
A thump against the front door had them both jumping back. It had sounded like someone leaning heavily against it.
Eve looked around the hallway for something to use as a weapon. She grabbed an umbrella and slashed the air with it as if testing it. With a nod, she stepped toward the door.
“Who’s out there?” she called out.
Jill clamped her hands on her shoulder and tried to pull her back.
“I’m warning you, I’m armed,” Eve said.
“It’s me.”
They both frowned.
“Me? Me who?”
“Brandon McKay. Open up.”
Jill gave a vigorous shake of her head. “This is too weird. You’re right. We should call the police.”
“A man knocks on the door and you want me to call the police? We can’t do that now that we know who it is.”
Jill grabbed her arm. “Eve. Think about it. Running. Footsteps. Heavy breathing. This is the moment when the entire audience in a movie theatre holds its breath and then yells don’t do it.”
Eve thought about it for a second. Before she could decide, they both looked up, their eyes wide, the sound of police sirens blaring in the night mingling with the sound of their thumping hearts.
“Please. Let me in.”
Chapter Eight
Eve and Jill stood in front of the fireplace looking at Brandon McKay who sat on the couch.
He wrung his hands together, and then clasped them until his knuckles showed white.
He’d been sitting there for half an hour, not saying anything. Just shaking his head.
He didn’t look dangerous.
He looked desperate.
And desperate people... acted rashly.
Eve’s gaze dropped to the wine glasses on the coffee table in front of him. They were within easy reach. She tensed and imagined Brandon being overcome by a sudden, irrational surge of anger and violence. He could smash one of the glasses and use it as a weapon.
“This is ridiculous,” Eve said, “Brandon. Look at me.”
He flicked his gaze up at her.
“You need to tell us what happened. It’s only fair. We could have left you out there.”
He gave a slow shake of his head.
His furtive glance toward the door suggested he might be reconsidering his options. Surely, he didn’t think he would be better off out there...
So far, her questions hadn’t been below the belt. She hadn’t even been pushy. Eve rolled her sleeves up. Time to get serious.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here,” he finally said. “I haven’t slept in days. Everything’s a mess.”
“What is?”
“Everything.” He shot to his feet, and then sunk down on the couch again.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he laughed. Again, Eve worried about him turning suddenly violent.
“I knew something was wrong,” he said, “But I turned a blind eye to it.”
Eve met
Jill’s gaze. They both lifted their shoulders. Neither one could make sense of what he’d said.
“How about a drink?” She’d already offered him one, but Brandon had just given her a blank look as if she’d spoken in a foreign language. “Coffee. Or perhaps something stronger.” Something to loosen his tongue, she thought. “There’s some brandy I use for cakes.”
He brushed his hand across the light bristle on his chin, his gaze fixed on the floor. “This is bad. Really bad. They’re going to try and pin it on me. I just know it.”
“What?” both Jill and Eve asked, their voices filled with exasperation.
He looked up, the shadows under his eyes doing little to detract from his good looks.
This is it, Eve thought and braced herself. Whatever he’d been holding back—
A determined knock on the door had Eve growling in frustration.
“I’m going to answer that and when I come back, you’re going to tell us what happened,” she said, her finger wagging her ultimatum.
“Eve.” Jill stopped her. “It’s ten thirty. Are you expecting someone?”
“No, but I wasn’t expecting him, and he’s here.”
Eve turned the porch light on but that didn’t help her identify the person standing outside.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The man was about Brandon’s age. He looked slightly out of breath.
He stepped forward. Eve now thought she recognized him, but couldn’t quite place him.
“I’m... sort of lost.”
“This is an island. You can’t possibly get lost here.”
He looked over his shoulder and then back at Eve. “I was looking for the main road. My... my car broke down.”
He didn’t sound at all sure. In fact, she had the feeling he’d plucked the excuse from thin air. And if his car had broken down, then why would he want to know which road to take? Eve curled her fingers around the doorknob, ready to slam the door shut.
“Do you have a cell phone?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Then you should be fine.” Eve pointed in the direction heading toward town and closed the door.
Waiting a few seconds, she nudged the curtain aside and peered out the window. The man made his way back to the road and that’s when she saw his car. It looked shiny. New.