Vanished into Plein Air

by Paula Darnell

  “You must have been good friends when you were both Ralph's students.”

  “You could say that. I had a huge crush on Ulysses at the time. It was the summer before my junior year in college, and he paid a lot of attention to me. I suppose I was flattered because he was older and obviously the best student in Ralph's class. Everybody knew he was going places. I remember how thrilled I was when he asked me out. He took me to a lovely little restaurant, and the first thing he did was order us champagne. Just as he offered a toast “to us,” Jill showed up. Of course, I didn't have a clue that he was married. He'd certainly never mentioned it. You can imagine what a scene she caused. She dragged him out of the restaurant, and there I was, all alone, with no way to get home. I didn't have a cell phone back then, so I had to ask the maître d' to use the restaurant's phone to call my brother for a ride home.”

  “How dreadful for you!”

  “I was so humiliated I skipped Ralph's art class the next day, and I didn't go to the paint-out at Miners' Lookout that weekend, either. By the time I saw Ulysses again, he was a free man, or at least, he was about to be.”

  Chapter 16

  “I went back to art class after the paint-out, and I felt relieved that Ulysses didn't come to class that day,” Pamela said. “By the time he finally showed up a week later, I was still angry with him for not telling me he was married, but the word about how his wife had left him was out, and I suppose I harbored some hope that he'd turn to me, even though the other students who'd been at the plein air event had told me how upset he was when he thought she'd gone missing.”

  “What happened?”

  “He didn't say a word to me or anybody else during class. We painted all morning, and he never left his easel. Ralph always made the rounds as we worked, encouraging us and giving us tips, but he didn't go near Ulysses that morning. Nobody tried to engage him in conversation. I suppose we all figured he wouldn't want to talk about what happened, so we gave him a wide berth. As I was leaving after class, Ulysses stopped me and told me that he would be getting a divorce from Jill and that he never would have asked me out if his marriage hadn't already been in trouble.”

  “And you believed him.”

  Pamela nodded. “I did at the time. I was young and naive, and I was infatuated with him, despite what he'd done. So I agreed to go out with him again. We dated until our summer art classes with Ralph ended, and it was time for me to go back to ASU. Ulysses told me he was going to Mexico to get his divorce and then he'd join me in Phoenix. I heard from him a few times that fall, but he never came back here—not to Phoenix and not to Lonesome Valley—until a few weeks ago.”

  “Were you upset?”

  “Devastated at the time, but when he didn't show up by Christmas, I finally realized he had no intention of coming back. A few months later, I met Rich. He was a grad student at the time. We got married right after my graduation about a year later.”

  “Did you stay in contact with any of the others from your summer art class?”

  “Ralph, of course. I've always looked on him as a mentor. I've also stayed in touch with a couple of sisters who teach art in Florida, but I have no idea what became of the rest of them. We were all quite serious about our art, so I wouldn't be surprised if several of them made a career out of it. I confess I've followed Ulysses's career all these years. I don't really know why. Curiosity about the one who got away, I suppose.”

  We were both turned toward the gallery's large plate glass windows facing Main Street so that we could be on the lookout for potential customers when we spotted Marie, the owner of the Coffee Klatsch next door, headed our way. We greeted her as she opened the door, and I immediately went over to the jewelry counter to unlock it. Marie was a regular customer, just as the artists from the Roadrunner were regular customers of hers. We often popped next door for a caffeine-laden pick-me-up.

  “Hi, girls,” she said, although it had been decades since either Pamela or I had been a girl. “What's new?”

  “You're in luck,” I told her. “Half of the jewelry in this case has been brought in since you were here last.”

  “Be sure to check out the art glass pieces,” Pamela said. “Our newest member makes both jewelry and glass sculptures.”

  Marie moved to the jewelry counter and peered inside. Meanwhile, I removed several carded pairs of earrings for her to look at. Her eclectic taste made it easy for us to accommodate her. Whenever she came into gallery, she always purchased at least one item of jewelry. Occasionally, she'd wander through the gallery, looking at the paintings on display, but she always returned to the jewelry case in the end. When she looked at the earrings I'd placed atop a black velvet cloth on the counter, she immediately picked up a pair of unique red and turquoise braided leather earrings with sterling silver French wires.

  “Mind if I try these on?” she asked.

  “Of course not. Let me grab the mirror.” I hauled out our flexible mirror, set it on top of the counter and tilted it so that she could see her reflection. She took off the sparkly chandelier earrings she was wearing and put on the braided leather ones. She cupped her hands behind her ears, giving the two-inch long braided dangles a slight tap so that they swayed back and forth.

  “I'll take these,” she said as she took them off and slipped the wire hooks back onto the earring card. I set the earrings aside and returned the others I'd pulled out to the case as she continued to peer inside.

  “Anything else catch your eye?”

  “Yes, that pendant necklace there.” She pointed to a large art glass pendant hung on a sturdy cord. The colorful abstract design of the large teardrop-shaped pendant reminded me of one of my tie-dyed scarves. I recognized the necklace as the work of our newest member, and I felt sure she'd be happy if any of her jewelry sold the first week it was on display. I reached into the case and carefully removed the necklace, setting it gently on the black velvet cloth so that Marie could look at it more closely. I wasn't surprised when she decided to try it on, since it made such a distinctive fashion statement, but I was a bit surprised when she decided to buy it, too, mainly because she usually limited her purchases to earrings.

  I rang up the sale while Pamela carefully wrapped and packaged Marie's jewelry. Marie folded her receipt around her credit card, tucked it into her wallet, and dropped her wallet into her purse. With a smile, Pamela handed Marie her bagged jewelry.

  “Be still my heart! Three beauties are gracing our gallery today.”

  I looked up to see Chip holding his hand over his heart and grinning at us. He hadn't come in the front door, so I supposed he'd been working in the apartment upstairs, which he used as his studio. Although he could have lived in the apartment, too, he preferred to stay at home with his parents, where his mother indulged him, although I knew his father, who expected Chip to show up promptly for work at his pizza parlor, did not. Delivering pizza may not have been the most exciting job in the world for the budding artist, but his job didn't take so much time that he couldn't work on his art. Still, despite loads of encouragement from Susan, his progress had been marked by fits and starts. Sometimes, he was productive; other times, he didn't pick up a paint brush for weeks. When I'd first joined the gallery, not a single painting of Chip's had been on display, despite the fact that he was a member of the gallery's board of directors, but since then he'd hung a few paintings and completed a mural covering an entire wall in our meeting room, so maybe he was making some progress.

  “Yes, aren't you the lucky one?” Marie said flirtatiously, giving Chip a wink.

  “Indeed, I am.”

  Pamela and I looked at each other. Chip and Pamela had had a brief fling a few months earlier. It was over, but, evidently, neither harbored any ill will toward the other. I'd never told Pamela that Chip had offered to break up with her if I would agree to go out with him, which I'd never had the slightest intention of doing, but I think she'd come to realize that he was a bit fickle, to say the least. At the time, Pamela's husband had seldom be
en at home, and she was feeling lonely and neglected, but ever since Rich had moved his business from Phoenix to Lonesome Valley, things had changed, and Pamela no longer complained that she was alone most of the time.

  “What can I do for you, fair lady, on this lovely day?” Chip asked Marie.

  “You can come over to the Coffee Klatsch so that I can show you which wall to paint.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said with a bow. “I'll be right over as soon as I take care of some gallery business.”

  “Don't be long.”

  “I won't. I promise.”

  “Chip, you're incorrigible. I hope you're not going to lead Marie on,” I said.

  “Who me? No such thing. I'm just being friendly.”

  “Uh, huh.”

  Pamela ignored this exchange. She came out from behind the counter and said, “Tell me you're going to paint a mural at the Coffee Klatsch.”

  “That's exactly what I plan to do.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a piece of paper. He unfolded it, smoothed it, and spread it out on the top of the counter. “I have something like this in mind, if Marie approves.” He moved the sketch sideways so that both Pamela and I would be able to see it. It depicted an outdoor scene with customers seated at tiny tables on the Coffee Klatsch's patio, enjoying coffee while a server stood by with a large pot of the Klatsch's signature brew.

  “I'm sure Marie will love it,” I said. “It's really spot on.”

  Chip looked pleased at my assessment. He glanced at Pamela for her approval.

  “What do you think?”

  “I agree with Amanda. It's perfect for the Coffee Klatsch. Has Marie definitely hired you to paint the mural?”

  “Not yet, but if you two think this is good, I'll head over there right now and seal the deal.”

  Chip planted an enthusiastic kiss on Pamela's cheek, just as Rich opened the door. Unfazed by the entrance of Pamela's husband, he extended his hand to shake Rich's. Rich made no move to shake hands, though, and the two stared at each other for an awkward moment until Rich broke the silence.

  “Just what do you think you're doing?” Rich demanded.

  “Nothing. I'm just going about my business.”

  “You leave my wife alone. If I ever see you touch her again, I'll make sure you regret it.”

  Chip shrugged, circled around Rich, and walked out the door.

  “Rich, honestly, was that really necessary? Chip was just showing Amanda and me plans for a mural he's going to paint next door.”

  Rich answered with a scowl.

  “Let's go to my office,” Pamela suggested, and Rich followed her down the hall, closing the door firmly behind them. I couldn't help noticing that his face had turned beet red. Rich looked as though he was about to boil over.

  From the muffled shouting I heard coming from Pamela's office, I was sure he had.

  Chapter 17

  The second I heard the office door open, I crouched behind the jewelry counter and busied myself with rearranging necklaces on the bottom shelf. When Rich stormed past the counter on his way to the gallery door, he didn't notice me. Mission accomplished, I thought, as I closed the case and stood up. At least, I'd managed to stay out of his way.

  Half an hour later, there were no customers in the gallery, and Pamela still hadn't come out of her office. I walked down the hall toward her office. Seeing that her door was open, I knocked on the frame before stepping inside.

  “Are you all right, Pamela?”

  “I will be,” she said, dropping a tissue into the wastebasket beside her desk. “I'm sorry you had to witness that scene. Rich can be so—”

  “Jealous?”

  She nodded, took another tissue from the box on her desk, and delicately dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes.

  “He's not always like this, Amanda, but Chip set him off.”

  “Does he know about you and Chip?”

  “He suspects, but that's been over for months. If Rich hadn't been away from home so much back then, I never would have started seeing Chip. What am I going to do, Amanda? He's demanding that I resign as gallery director so that I won't see Chip here.”

  “Oh, no. You're not seriously considering resigning, are you?”

  “I'm afraid I am. I don't want to lose my husband.”

  I heard the gallery door open, so I stepped out into the hall to see who had come in. Chip rushed in, carrying three large cups from the Coffee Klatsch in a cardboard container. He saw me and came down the hall, entering Pamela's office, where he deposited the cardboard container on her desktop. She had turned her face so that, at first, he didn't notice that she was upset.

  “I come bearing gifts. Well, coffee, anyway, to celebrate,” Chip said, as he handed me a mocha. “Marie hired me to paint the mural for the Coffee Klatsch. I showed her the sketch, and she really likes my idea.”

  “That's great, Chip! Congratulations!” I said. “Let's go back into the gallery, and you can tell me all about it.”

  “But I want to tell Pamela, too,” he said, looking her way and finally realizing that she was distressed. “What's wrong, Pamela? Don't tell me your husband gave you a hard time over a little kiss.”

  “He did. He wants me to avoid you.”

  “But that's impossible when we're both here so much of the time.”

  “Exactly. He wants me to resign as gallery director.”

  “Don't resign! I think he's being unreasonable, but I don't have to use the apartment upstairs as my studio. I can work at Aunt Susan's. She has plenty of extra room, and I know she won't mind.”

  “I don't want to put you out.”

  “You're not putting me out. I can switch my gallery work days to the days you're not here.”

  “But we're both on the board.”

  “I'll resign from the board.”

  “Oh, Chip,” Pamela sniffed.

  “I don't want to be the cause of any problems for you. Won't he be satisfied if we don't see each other?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Well, do your best to persuade him, because I don't want you to be forced into giving up the gallery directorship. I know how much it means to you.”

  Chip was right about that. Pamela loved being the director of the Roadrunner, and she was very good at her job. I wondered whether Rich would consider the concessions Chip offered as satisfactory, or whether he would renew his demand that she resign.

  “Well, if you're sure . . . .”

  “I am. Now have your macchiato and try to relax for a while. I'm going to go look at our work schedule and arrange to trade times.”

  Luckily, we hadn't had any customers come into the gallery during all the drama. I followed Chip back into the gallery, leaving Pamela to pull herself together. Chip went straight to the counter, pulled out the top drawer, and rummaged through it.

  “Do you know where the schedule book is, Amanda? We always used to keep it in the top drawer.”

  “It should be there. Let me take a look. Maybe somebody moved it.”

  After searching through a couple of other drawers, I finally found it under a stack of bags.

  “Here it is,” I held up the spiral-bound notebook on the counter and opened it to the September schedule. “No idea how it ended up there,” I muttered.

  “Thanks. Let's take a look.” Chip scanned the month's schedule. “If I trade days with Valerie, that should take care of it. I'll give her a call.”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, then returned it just as quickly. He grinned. “Better wait till she's out of class. Don't worry, Amanda. I'll take care of this.”

  I nodded. “I really hope Pamela can work things out with Rich. You're right about how much being gallery director means to her.”

  Chip took another look at the notebook. “Let me double check the schedule for a back-up. It looks like I could switch with Carrie if Valerie's not able to do it. By the way, where's Ralph? According to this, he's supposed to be here with you this afternoon.” />
  “He called Pamela and told her he wasn't able to make it today because his arthritis is kicking up again.”

  “Poor guy. I think I'll stop by his place to check on him while I'm out doing my deliveries this evening, maybe take him a pizza.”

  “That would be a nice gesture. I'm sure he would appreciate it.”

  “I'm just a nice guy,” Chip said, reverting to his usual flirtatious behavior. He gave me an exaggerated wink along with a silly grin.

  Saying that he had to go to work early, Chip left the gallery. Pamela didn't come out of her office the rest of the afternoon. Although we had a few customers, it wasn't busy, and I handled what little business we had on my own. Promptly at five, I went back to the office and told Pamela I was leaving for the day.

  “So am I,” she said. “I guess I'll have to face the music sometime.”

  “Good luck,” I told her, as she locked the gallery door. “I hope your husband changes his mind about your resigning.”

  “I think he might if he's satisfied that Chip won't be hanging around the gallery. I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He never used to be so jealous. Except once, but that was so long ago. See you later, Amanda.”

  Knowing how crowded the store would be, I debated whether or not to stop at the supermarket on the way home. Instead, I decided against it. Rather than making the pecan pie I'd planned on before remembering I had no pecans, I figured I would use whatever ingredients I had on hand to make a different pie to take to Belle's tonight.

  Both Laddie and Mona Lisa rushed me as soon as I came in, and I devoted a few minutes to giving them hugs and cuddles before I opened the fridge and scanned the contents of my cupboards in search of ingredients for a pie. I always kept the basics on hand as well as a few frozen pie shells, so all I needed to do was settle on my pie filling. The bag of Granny Smith apples I'd bought a few days earlier made the decision easy, so I began peeling and slicing them until I had enough to fill a pie shell. I'd decided on a Dutch apple pie, rather than a traditional double-crust pie, so I combined the ingredients for the crumble topping and then assembled the pie.