I told Belle about the second sales call I planned to make to the hospital gift shop, and she encouraged me, offering to come along with me, wearing the vibrant green silk scarf I'd made her for her birthday.
“Every time I wear it, I get compliments. What do you think?” she asked.
“Sure, and I'll wear a different one from yesterday. Maybe we can wow Xena.”
“Xena? Not Xena Mareno?”
“I don't know. The ladies never mentioned her last name. Xena's not a very common name, though.”
“No, it isn't. If she's who I think she is, Xena's not her given name, anyway. She adopted it because she likes it better than Sunflower.”
“Her parents actually named her Sunflower?”
“So she told me, and she hates it, although I guess they always called her Sunny when she was a kid.”
“That's not so bad.”
“Unfortunately, some of her classmates delighted in spelling her nickname S-o-n-n-y, so when the family moved here, she told everybody her name was Xena. I met her at the library. We usually both sign up to volunteer on Wednesday afternoons, so I often see her there. Oh, I hope it turns out to be the same Xena. I just know she'll order your scarves.”
“That would be great, if she did, and it would make the hospital gift shop my first wholesale account. Every little bit helps.”
“If you get one account, you can get more, kind of like a snowball effect.”
“But what if they want an exclusive deal? They might not like it if other gift shops or boutiques are selling the same items.”
“That's just it. They won't be the same items. Every scarf you make is unique, and lots of women like the idea that they have a one-of-a-kind accessory. They know they'll never see anyone else wearing exactly the same scarf.”
“That's true enough.”
My ideas about how to pursue my art business had expanded since I'd first moved to Lonesome Valley. At the time, I'd been focused on becoming a member of the Roadrunner Gallery and adding my art studio as a stop on the Friday night studio tours that the local Chamber of Commerce promoted. I'd soon learned that, while both of those endeavors formed a solid basis for my art business, they alone weren't enough to sustain it. Thus, my expansion into pet portraits and silk scarves, which I tie-dyed or painted with dye in abstract designs. I'd had lots of encouragement from Susan and Pamela, both longtime members of the Roadrunner.
Emma, Dustin, Belle, and Dennis had all helped me, too. Emma had come up with the idea of setting up a separate website to promote commissioned pet portraits. Dustin had personally driven a commissioned landscape back to Kansas City, a twelve-hundred-mile trip, and helped the buyers hang it in their den. Belle had encouraged me to pitch my scarves to local boutiques and gift shops. Dennis had made my portable sign for the Friday night studio tour and installed lights along the sidewalk that led to my studio. Thinking about all the people who'd helped me along the way, I teared up. Of course, Belle noticed right away.
“What's wrong, Amanda?”
“I'd never have made it this far without help. I'm not much of a businessperson,” I sniffed, pulling a tissue from my pocket.
“You're doing just fine. You should be proud of all you've accomplished. And don't sell yourself short, either. You're the one who's making it all work.”
“With a lot of help from my friends.”
“Who are happy to lend a hand,” Belle said, finishing my sentence. “Most of the time you're the one doing all the heavy lifting.”
“Thanks, Belle.” I had occasional moments when my self-confidence waned, but Belle always encouraged me to persevere.
“You know what? Thinking about how each of your scarves has a unique design made me realize that we should come up with a hang tag for the scarves.”
“Well, I have those little tags with the care instructions that I sew to the hems.”
“Right, I know you need those, but I was thinking of a small piece of card stock that could emphasize each scarf as a one-of-a-kind piece of wearable art. Also, we can thread the scarf through the center and then hang it on a display.”
The look of confusion on my face inspired her to offer to make up a sample.
“Wait right here,” she said. “I'll be back in a minute.”
Seeing Belle heading for the back door, Mr. Big ran to her.
“Stay here with Laddie and Amanda,” she told him. “Mommy will be right back.” The little dog seemed to understand. He went back to Laddie who was snoozing and curled up beside him.
When Belle returned, she suggested we sit at the picnic table, where she laid out ivory card stock, scissors, paper, and a small case which she opened to reveal a calligraphy set. She fitted a nib and an ink cartridge onto the pen before drawing a mock-up of a tag on the card stock. It had a round hole in the center and a curved open top edge similar to tags used for displaying men's ties. She carefully inked the label and passed it to me to inspect.
“This looks great.” She'd written “Just for You,” “Hand Dyed,” and “One-of-a-Kind” around the circular hole in the center, and on the back, “Wearable Art from the Amanda Trent Studio.”
“You could offer each wholesale account a counter display rack for your scarves.” Belle quickly sketched a diagram. “See, a dowel rod here and a cardboard display head here, something like they use to display necklaces, only you would have a scarf draped around it. I know Dennis could whip a couple up in no time, and we'll take one with us tomorrow. I'll make a dozen tags tonight, so we can take twelve scarves and demo the display.” Belle's eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.
“That sounds wonderful. I hope Dennis won't mind.”
“You know he won't. Just keep the pies coming. That's all the thanks he wants.”
“No problem. In fact, I'll whip up his favorite pecan pie and bring it over later this evening. I'd better check my stock of scarves, too, just to make sure I have enough.”
“Don't forget to update your wholesale price list with the information about providing a free display rack with an initial purchase of twelve scarves.”
“They have to buy a dozen to get the rack free?”
“Right. Otherwise, they can buy it if they want to.”
“How much should I say it costs, in that case?”
“You want them to know they're getting something valuable, so let's say they can buy one for a hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Wow! OK. Will do. Looks like I have a new sales manager.”
Chapter 13
Dennis was working on the display stand later that evening when I delivered the pecan pie, and Belle was lettering the card stock labels by hand with her calligraphy pen.
“I decided to make the head and neck silhouette from wood,” he said. “It'll be sturdier than cardboard, and I can cut it out with my jigsaw. I'll sand it so it's nice and smooth. We don't want any of your customers getting a splinter.”
My friends had thought of everything, and I really hoped I'd make a sale after all the effort they'd put in to help me.
The next morning, Belle and I departed in plenty of time to arrive at the hospital gift shop shortly after it opened at nine. We'd stowed the counter display stand in my large hot pink suitcase so we could roll it inside. Although the stand wasn't very heavy, it was too bulky to carry easily, especially considering that we were unlikely to snag a parking spot in the hospital's small lot. Sure enough, when we reached the hospital, we found the lot completely full, so I parked on the street, as I had the day before; only this time I found a space a little closer to the hospital.
“Belle!” an auburn-haired fortyish woman exclaimed as soon as we walked in the door of the gift shop. I figured she had to be Xena. She gave Belle a quick hug. “Are you visiting someone in the hospital today?”
“No, actually we came to see you.” Belle introduced me and explained our mission, and Xena invited me to set up my display on a glass counter that contained some of the jewelry the gift shop offered for sale. Xena and Belle c
hatted while I arranged my scarves.
“How lovely!” she said as she gently touched the hem of a fiery reddish orange scarf. I explained that, if she bought a dozen scarves, the display stand would be free.
“I'm sure these will sell,” she said. “We'll take a dozen. I'll write you a check now if you can leave this display stand here today.”
“Of course. It's all yours.” Belle and I high-fived with glee when Xena went into the backroom office to write the check.
“My first wholesale account,” I said, “and I owe it all to you. Thanks, Belle. The tags and the display stand made all the difference.”
“Well, it probably didn't hurt that I already know Xena, but I'm sure she would have made a purchase anyway.”
Xena came back, a check in hand. Thanking her for her order, I tucked it into my bag.
“Minimum of three scarves to re-order, right?” she asked.
“Yes, that's right, and since you're here in town, there won't be any shipping charges. I can always swing by to drop off your order.”
“Good. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon.”
We bade Xena good-bye, and Belle told her she'd see her the next day at the library. We walked out, into the hospital's reception area, and Belle suggested we stop off in one of the little restaurants downtown for brunch. I readily agreed since I'd been too nervous about the sales call when I woke up to eat breakfast, although I'd had some strong black tea.
“Before we leave, I should go up to the second floor to find out how Ulysses is doing.”
“I'll come with you.”
My large bright pink suitcase drew a few stares from some of the hospital staff as I rolled it into the elevator, but I didn't think it was that unusual. I could have been there to bring some clothes to a patient, for all they knew.
The ICU waiting room on the second floor was deserted when we arrived. A nurse sat behind a computer at the nursing station. I approached her and asked her how Ulysses was doing.
“Are you a relative?”
“No, a friend,” I said. That was stretching it a bit since I barely knew the famous artist.
“I'm sorry. I can't give you a report, but you could check with his wife. She went downstairs to get a drink. I'm sure she'll be back in a few minutes.”
“Maybe we can catch Olivia in the cafeteria,” I said to Belle, as the nurse turned her attention back to her paperwork.
We hopped back on the elevator to return to the first floor. Several hallways led away from the main reception area. The place seemed like a maze to me, but Belle had been there before, and she knew just where to find the cafeteria.
I saw Olivia sitting alone at a table near the window. She stood and discarded her cup in a large trash receptacle. She seemed startled and not particularly happy to see me when she looked up.
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly.
“I had some business to take care of, so I thought I'd see how Ulysses is doing as long as I was already here. This is my friend Belle. Belle, Olivia Durand,”
Taken aback by my calm response, Olivia shifted gears and greeted Belle with a polite “hello.”
Turning to me, she told me that there had been no change in her husband's condition. He was still in a coma.
After I said I was sorry to hear it, I hesitated before venturing to ask her another question, but I decided to plunge ahead, anyway.
“Olivia, have you reported your kidnapping to the police yet?”
“Why would I do that? It's over, and I'm fine.”
“Yes, but whoever's responsible is still at large. They may try it again with someone else.”
Olivia shrugged. “I can't think about that right now. If you'll excuse me . . . .”
“Of course.”
“She really didn't want to talk to you,” Belle observed. “I suppose she's so concerned about her husband that she doesn't want to deal with anything else.”
“Could be. Shall we splurge and have brunch at Eva's in the resort, instead of going someplace downtown? I'm buying,” I said, thinking of the nice check Xena had given me.
“You're on,” Belle agreed. “I hear their crepes are to die for.”
“Yum. I can't wait. I'm starving. I was too nervous to eat anything this morning.”
Seated at a table next to a large window overlooking the resort's golf course, we treated ourselves to the chef's wonderful crepes while our server hovered inconspicuously in the background, but never failed to appear whenever we needed something.
My eyes widened when the bill arrived, but I reminded myself that the brunch was meant to be a splurge, and it had been so pleasant that it was well worth every cent.
“Shall we stop by Brooks's new frame shop?” I asked. “I'm kind of curious to see it.”
“Sure, why not? And if you don't mind, let's stop by that little candy store here, too. They have the best chocolates.”
I'd never say “no” to chocolate, as Belle well knew. As soon as our server returned with my receipt, I tacked on a generous tip. Then I put my credit card back into my wallet, and we were off to the frame shop.
Inside, there was an L-shaped counter that extended the length of the shop. Both frame samples and framed artworks were displayed on the walls behind the counter. An arched doorway opposite the counter led directly into Brooks's art gallery, so that customers didn't have to return to the mall to go next door.
“That's curious. I didn't notice that door when Emma and I attended the reception for Ulysses's show,” I said, peeking into the gallery.
“That's because it wasn't there then.”
I whirled around and saw Brooks coming out of the frame shop's back room with a young man who was wearing the resort's signature logo polo shirt.
“Oh, hi, Brooks. My friend and I just enjoyed a lovely brunch here at Eva's.” I introduced the two as the young man ducked back into the rear work area.
Brooks looked pleased at the compliment. “Glad to hear it.”
“I was curious to see the frame shop. Have all the auction buyers taken advantage of your framing offer?”
“All but one. She's having some work done to her home in Beverly Hills, so her decorator's going to take care of coordinating the frame with her new decor. Actually, she's the lady who bought your painting, Amanda. I'm a little surprised she didn't talk to you after the auction.”
“I never saw her.” Of course, I'd been so busy helping myself to another dessert and eavesdropping that I might not have noticed if anyone had been headed my way.
“I thought I saw a man make the high bid,” Belle interjected.
“You did, but he was bidding on his mother's behalf,” Brooks told us.
“Oh, I can certainly understand that,” I said. “I've never had any luck bidding at auctions myself. Everything always moves so fast. I'd have somebody do it for me, if I could.”
Of course, that's exactly what I'd planned for Belle to do if my painting drew no bids. She rolled her eyes, but, fortunately, Brooks didn't notice.
“By the way, we ran into Olivia at the hospital this morning, and she told us Ulysses's condition hasn't improved.”
“You were at the hospital today?” Brooks frowned.
Belle jumped in. “The gift shop is one of Amanda's wholesale accounts,” she proudly informed him.
Brooks's expression turned from disapproval to confusion. “You're selling art at the hospital gift shop? What—like printed note cards or something?”
“Wearable art. Dyed scarves like these we're wearing.”
“Oh, I see,” he said dismissively.
I ignored his attitude and plunged into deeper waters.
“Olivia also told us that she hasn't reported the kidnapping to the police. Who's to say the kidnappers won't try it again? They made half a million dollars this time. Someone could get hurt or worse next time.”
Brooks's frown returned. “You promised not to tell anyone about it,” he said, eyeing Belle.
“That was before
Olivia came back safe and sound.”
“Who else have you told?”
“Nobody. But I really think the police should be informed so that they can investigate.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea, Amanda. If word gets out that the police are involved, the kidnappers might try to retaliate against Olivia or even you.”
“So it's better that they're still running around loose and the police aren't even looking for them because they know nothing about it?”
“I didn't say that. Maybe you're right, but Olivia has a lot on her plate right now, what with Ulysses's condition. I hate to add another burden.”
“Brooks, could I see you for a minute?” Gabrielle stood under the arch between the two shops, her icy tone unmistakable.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said as he joined his wife.
“Looks like we're dismissed,” Belle whispered.
I nodded. “We might as well go get those chocolates now. I could certainly use one.”
“Chocolate makes everything better,” Belle agreed, as we left the frame shop.
Brooks's ambivalence about reporting the kidnapping to the police had me stumped. I knew he'd put up some of his own money to help Ulysses raise the ransom. Brooks was a very wealthy man, and perhaps recovering the money wasn't a major concern to him, but I thought justice should be. I was very much afraid that the kidnappers, having succeeded once, would repeat their crime. Besides, it made me angry that they'd gotten away with it.
If Olivia and Brooks didn't want to report the kidnapping to the police, maybe I should do it. I had a feeling neither would thank me for doing so, and Olivia might well be too upset to handle a police interrogation right now.
Then another thought occurred to me. A police investigation into the hit-and-run accident that had put Ulysses in the hospital was already in progress. I wondered if the police had any leads.
There was one way to find out, and I knew just who to ask.
Chapter 14
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