“How did we do?” I asked them.
“I sold one of my small papier mâché animals,” Susan said, “and one of Carrie's turquoise necklaces.”
“I didn't sell a thing,” Chip said, “but Judith sold one of Ralph's huge oil paintings. I'm going to put the sold sign on it now.”
Curious to see the painting, I followed Chip. Perfectly executed in the realistic style, Ralph's expensive artwork depicted a mountain scene at sunset.
“Ralph's going to be happy,” Chip said.
“I'll say,” I agreed, glancing at the price as Chip placed the sold sign next to the painting. “I hope the buyer's not planning on hauling this one back on the bus.”
Chip laughed. “No way. He said it would fit in his truck. He's going to pick it up later. By the way, I didn't mean to upset your son last night. I didn't realize he lives with you.”
“He's visiting,” I said automatically and almost instantly regretted telling Chip, because he winked at me.
I pretended not to notice and excused myself, saying I needed to check with Susan about my schedule. The timing hadn't seemed right to tell Chip I wasn't interested in him. Besides, despite Dustin's opinion, I wasn't one hundred percent sure that Chip really found me attractive. Maybe he was just a friendly, if somewhat flirtatious, guy. If that were the case, I'd feel like a fool if I brought up the subject before he did.
Around eleven, another bus drove up, and, again, the tourists flocked into the gallery, keeping us busy. Although nobody bought any of my own paintings, I sold a small painting of a horse by another artist and a larger abstract artwork. Lonnie, the man who had objected to Pamela's offer to become gallery director at our meeting, had painted the abstract. I didn't recognize the name of the member who'd painted the horse, and I figured it would take me a while to connect names with faces, even though I'd met, or had at least seen, most of the co-op's members, either when I'd hung my display or at the meeting.
By quarter to one, the tourists had cleared out of the gallery, Judith had gone upstairs to Janice's apartment, and Chip had made a food run to pick up some lunch for Susan, who would be staying for the afternoon. When I left at one, some of the other members were due to come in to staff the gallery.
I was killing time, browsing the jewelry display case near the check-out counter, when the woman who'd admired my lake painting earlier returned and told me she'd decided to buy it. Although it was a small work and one of my more inexpensive pieces, I was delighted to have sold a painting the first day I worked in the gallery.
Maybe things were looking up, after all.
Chapter 13
Cabo at the Lonesome Valley Resort lived up to its reputation, both for its cuisine and its ambiance. The attentive wait staff made sure we never lacked anything. Dustin and I were lingering over chocolate mousse and coffee when a distinguished-looking man about my age entered the restaurant. Unlike Cabo's customers, who were dressed casually, he wore a suit and tie. He stopped at the table closest to the entrance and talked to the patrons briefly before going to the next table and doing the same. After several minutes, he made his way to our table.
“I hope everything's to your satisfaction,” he said.
“Yes. The restaurant is lovely,” I replied.
“Excellent food, too,” Dustin added.
“I'm glad you're enjoying it. Where are you folks from?”
“My son's visiting from Kansas City,” I said, “but I live here in Lonesome Valley.”
“A local? We don't see many of our community's residents here at the Resort. Have you been to the Brooks Miller Gallery downtown, by any chance?”
“Yesterday, as a matter of fact.”
“How did you like it?”
Dustin was about to answer when I shot him a look. Luckily, our twenty-five years of non-verbal communication paid off, and he understood.
“Very interesting,” I said diplomatically. I had a feeling we were talking to the man himself, and even though I thought his artwork was terrible, I didn't want to insult him.
“I'm Brooks Miller,” he announced proudly.
To divert him from any more discussion about his paintings, I said, “You have such a spacious gallery.”
“Yes, the space itself is satisfactory, but the location isn't the best. I wanted a place on Main Street, but, unfortunately, there weren't any available when we opened the gallery last year.”
I could tell that Dustin's radar kicked in when he heard Brooks say “we.”
“Do you have a partner?” Dustin asked.
“You could say so. My wife manages the gallery while I manage the Resort. It's all I can do to carve out a little bit of time for painting. Well, nice meeting you.”
Dustin's glum look said it all.
“I'm sorry, Dustin. I know you like her.”
“It's more than that, Mom. I called her this morning while you were working at the gallery and asked her out for dinner tonight. She said she couldn't go to dinner, but she agreed to meet me for a drink when she gets off work at six.”
“Oh, Dustin.”
“I wonder what her game is, anyway.”
Since I'd already told him what I thought she wanted, I didn't comment.
“I could cancel,” Dustin said, “but I think I'll go and play along.”
I didn't like the sound of that. “Dustin, be careful. You're playing with fire. If Brooks finds out, he's not likely to take too kindly to another man going out with his wife.”
“And I'd be doing the same thing Candy did when she made a play for Dad,” he said, finally seeing the light. “I'm sorry, Mom. I wasn't thinking straight. I'll text her and cancel.”
I hadn't brought up my ex-husband's name since Dustin's arrival. I didn't want to put my children in the middle of an already-awkward situation any more than they already were, and I'd encouraged them to maintain a relationship with their father, but it was difficult. I knew they hadn't forgiven him yet for divorcing me and marrying Candy the minute our divorce was final.
“I saw Dad last weekend,” Dustin said, as we walked to the car. “I didn't know if I should mention it.”
“It's all right, Dustin.” I was beginning to realize that I didn't feel much of anything for my ex-husband anymore.
“I saw the baby. Cute kid, but he's awfully fussy. He cried most of the time while I was there. Dad and Candy looked like they hadn't slept for days. It doesn't seem right that they're living in our house. I think Dad should at least have bought a different house for them to live in.”
“He probably can't afford it. The house is already mortgaged to the hilt. He told me it was underwater, that we had no equity at all.”
Dustin frowned. “You mean to tell me that Dad didn't buy out your half?”
“He told me there was nothing to buy.”
“That doesn't sound right.”
“He ought to know. He always handled all our finances.”
“Doesn't sound like he was doing a very good job of it,” Dustin grumbled.
“Let's not go there. It's a beautiful day, I have a new life here, and my favorite son's visiting me. What could be better? By the way, did I tell you I finished that commissioned work that I painted for the judge and his wife?”
“No, but I saw it in the studio. It's a great painting, Mom.”
“Thank you. I'm pleased with it myself. Now the only problem is transporting it back to Kansas City. I want to have the arrangements for the shipping made before I send them the final photos of the painting and my invoice.”
“Don't tell me they haven't paid for it yet. And I hope you're charging them for shipping.”
“They've paid half. The other half is due when I finish. As for the shipping, I didn't know I'd be moving at the time I took the commission. When I promised to deliver it to them, it didn't occur to me that I might not still be living in Kansas City.”
“Shipping's going to take a big bite out of your profit.”
“I know, but I can't very well change the
terms of our agreement after the fact.”
“True.”
As soon as we walked in the door at home, we greeted Laddie and Mona Lisa, and Dustin went into the studio, saying he'd like to take a closer look at my landscape.
“You don't happen to have a yardstick or a tape measure, do you, Mom?”
“Sorry, no. A lot of little things like that didn't make it into the truck when I moved, but I'm sure Belle and Dennis have one you could borrow.”
“Good idea. I'll go check.”
He returned in a few minutes with a metal tape measure in one hand and a plate of Belle's peanut butter cookies in the other. The fact that we'd had lunch topped off with chocolate mousse only an hour earlier hadn't stopped Dustin from sampling Belle's treats.
“Great cookies,” he said, setting the plate on the kitchen counter. “Almost as good as yours.”
I laughed, “You don't need to butter me up. I already planned to make all your favorites for dinner tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, giving me a peck on the cheek. Laddie followed him into the studio, and I heard Dustin closing the studio door. I looked out the front window, and there were Dustin and Laddie. Dustin lifted the trunk lid, but I couldn't see what he was doing, while Laddie strained at his leash, eager for a jaunt. As soon as Dustin lowered the lid, he put something in his pocket, reached down and adjusted Laddie's leash, and they both took off running down the block. When they returned at a slow jog, Laddie immediately flopped down on the floor, panting happily,
“I hadn't planned on leaving the yard, but Laddie acted like he expected to go somewhere, so I thought I'd take him for a quick run.”
“He likes to get out and about. What were you doing, anyway? I saw you looking in the trunk of your rental.”
“I had an idea, but I wanted to make sure your painting would fit in the trunk of the car before I said anything.”
“If you want to drop it off at a shipper in Phoenix on your way to the airport, I'll need to find a good one. I meant to ask some of the gallery members to recommend a reliable art shipper, but I was so upset by the murder that I forgot all about it. I must be losing it.”
“You're not losing it, Mom. It's been a stressful time. I thought I'd deliver the painting in person. I can cancel my flight and call the rental car agency to arrange to return the car in Kansas City, rather than in Phoenix.”
“Oh, Dustin, that's sweet of you, but it's too much. Don't you have to work Monday?”
“Yes, but that gives me two days to drive back and deliver your painting. I can leave around noon tomorrow, stop in the evening when I get tired, and drive the rest of the way Sunday. You know I like to drive. I'll listen to some audiobooks and drink plenty of coffee. It's no problem, really, and I'll bet your customers will appreciate getting their painting right away.”
“Well, if you're sure . . . .”
“I am, but first they need to pay you their final installment.”
“I'm all for that. I'll email them the photos along with my invoice, and they can pay online.”
“Ask them if they'll be home to accept delivery Sunday night, too, OK?”
“I'll take care of it right now,” I said, reaching for my laptop.
Not five minutes later, a message from PayBuddy popped up informing me that my invoice had been paid. Then my cell phone rang. It was the judge's wife, saying how excited she was that the painting was ready, especially since they would be hosting a party next weekend and they wanted all their friends to see it.
“Is it all right if I give out your phone number? A lot of these people buy art.”
I assured her that would be fine before turning the phone over to Dustin so that he could exchange phone numbers and arrange the delivery.
“We're all set,” he said as he put my phone down.
I gave him a big hug while Laddie pranced around us, and Mona Lisa, not to be left out, jumped up and draped herself over my shoulder, purring loudly.
Chapter 14
As I waved good-bye to my son the next day, I swiped a tear from the corner of my eye. I felt very much alone. Even though he hadn't lived at home for several years, I was used to seeing him at least once a week. Our Sunday dinners had been a family ritual.
Sensing my mood, Laddie leaned against my leg and nuzzled me, whining softly. I leaned over and ran my hands through his thick, silky fur, telling him what a good boy he was. I thought about taking him for another walk but decided against it, since Justin and I had finished a marathon walk with both Laddie and Mr. Big only an hour earlier.
As we headed back to the house, Belle came out her front door and called to me.
Giving Laddie's leash a gentle tug, I said, “Let's go see Belle.”
We could hear Mr. Big barking inside the house.
“No crutches, I see.”
“I'm done with them, but my ankle still bothers me. I suppose I'll be limping for a while, but it's easier than dragging those crutches around. I had Dennis return them to the drug store this morning.”
“You're on the mend,” I assured her. “That's the important thing.”
Belle nodded. “I saw Dustin leaving a minute ago.”
“I'll miss him. I suppose I'll have to make do with visits.”
“It's hard. Both our sons still live in Michigan, but we see them fairly often. By the way, have you had a chance to look at the Bugle yet?” The Lonesome Valley Bugle was a newspaper delivered free to local residents once a week.
“Not yet. I was planning to read it after Dustin left.”
“Well, why don't you and Laddie come in for a few minutes. I want to show you the Chamber of Commerce's ad.”
“Sure.”
Laddie and I trooped inside after Belle and were greeted by Mr. Big. Belle sat beside me on the sofa and opened the newspaper to the large center spread, an ad for the local Friday art studio tours, sponsored by the Chamber of Commerce. It included a large map with stars to mark each studio's location, along with a list of artists' studios and their addresses. The first thing I noticed was that my star was missing. There was no listing for my studio at all.
“I thought the Chamber promised to add you to the tour.”
“They did,” I said in dismay. “At least the lady I spoke with at the Chamber's office did. She said they were going to print new flyers with a new map to hand out and my studio would be included, starting next week. Looks like I'm out in the cold. I wonder what happened.”
“Probably a bureaucratic snafu. Maybe they can correct it before they distribute the flyers.”
“I hope so.” I was afraid it was too late. “I should go check with them right away, but their office may not be open on Saturday.”
“The Chamber's kiosk downtown should be open all weekend. Maybe whoever's staffing it can help.”
“Good idea. I better find out right away. I'm glad you noticed it.”
“Why don't you leave Laddie here with us. It looks as though their long walk this morning has them both tuckered out.” Belle nodded toward Mr. Big's bed where he had curled up. Laddie lay on the floor next to him, his feet moving rapidly as though he were running.
“He's dreaming,” I whispered as I quietly slipped out, without rousing the dogs.
Mona Lisa ignored me when I went home to grab my keys and purse before quickly exiting.
The Chamber of Commerce's kiosk, where greeters provided downtown visitors with brochures, maps, and other information, stood on the far end of Main Street. A large public parking lot next to the kiosk accommodated tourists and locals alike. Since the few parallel parking spaces along Main Street weren't adequate, the lot was a necessity to lure people to shop downtown. I found a space in the crowded lot and approached the kiosk, where a girl who appeared to be high-school age was handing some brochures to an older couple. As soon as they left, I stepped up to the counter. The girl wore a name badge. Lisa had long, brown hair, and, despite her eye make-up, now that I could see her up close, she looked even younger than I'
d first thought.
“Hi, Lisa,” I said. “I'm Amanda, and my art studio is supposed to be on the Friday night tour, but it wasn't listed on the map in today's Bugle.”
Lisa looked confused for a moment. Then she grabbed a flyer from a shelf behind her and handed it to me.
“Is this what you're looking for?”
I scanned the map. Sure enough, my listing had been omitted from the flyer, too. There was no star indicating my studio's location, either.
“This looks just like the map that was in the newspaper.”
“Right. That's our new map.”
“Well, how can I get it changed?”
“These are brand new. They were printed a couple of days ago. Maybe next time they're printed, you can get your studio listed.”
“How often are they printed?”
“Oh, let me see. Usually about every three or four months, I guess.”
I wanted to cry, but I wasn't ready to give up yet. Since it was obvious Lisa wasn't able to help me, I needed to find someone who could.
“Is anyone working at the Chamber's office today?” I asked her.
Lisa shrugged. “It's Saturday, so I doubt it.”
“Maybe I'll check, anyway, just in case.”
“Have a nice day,” she said as I hurried off. Unfortunately, my day would be anything but nice if I missed out on the studio tour for the next three or four months. Like the Roadrunner Gallery, Lonesome Valley's Friday night tour of artists' studios had been a part of my plan to make my living as a full-time artist.
The Chamber of Commerce occupied a small, refurbished 1930s bungalow, a few blocks off Main Street. Rather than move my car, I walked. There was a closed sign on the front door, but through the filmy curtains, I could see that someone was inside, so I knocked. When there was no response, I tried again, knocking a little louder this time.
My efforts were rewarded when the door swung open, and I was surprised to see Pamela, the gallery board member who'd wanted to become the Roadrunner's new director. We hadn't spoken since the day of my interview, and, from the blank look on her face when she opened the door and saw me, I wasn't sure that she remembered me.
Artistic License to Kill Page 7