“So, I saw you talking to Agent Benjamin tonight. Has he cross-referenced the DNA?”
“He submitted the cap, but DNA testing isn’t quick. It could take up to two weeks.”
“You must have scared him off.”
“He got paged. Besides, I thought you ‘couldn’t care less,’ ” Brooks said, quoting my earlier denial.
“I couldn’t.” I repeated the lie.
We walked along the marina without speaking, my mind on Daniel and his quick departure. He’d sent flowers and made an appearance, but he hadn’t even said hello.
The afterglow of my exhibit was becoming tainted, and Brooks must have detected the change in mood, for he held up the bottle of bubbly and suggested, “Why don’t we go to my place and enjoy this under the stars?”
“Why not?” I took his arm, glad for a respite from thoughts of Agent Daniel Benjamin.
We walked straight to Brooks’s backyard. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the faux wicker sectional, centerpiece to his dramatic terraced patio facing the water. “Be back in a sec.”
Moments later he returned with two flutes and a bucket of ice.
“It’s exhausting being famous.” I fell back against the pillows and rested the back of my hand across my forehead in a dramatic gesture.
“Soon you’ll forget all the little people,” Brooks joined in as he popped the cork. “Might I have your autograph now before your star rises too high?”
“I signed your painting—isn’t that enough? Or would you have me strain the tool of my art?”
Brooks uttered a low chuckle, quite like the one having earned him his nickname. “Cassandra Mitchell and fame would be such a dangerous combination.”
I swatted his arm. “I wouldn’t change.”
He handed me one of the filled glasses and rested his large frame on the pillow back beside me. “May you retain the virtue of humility. Always.”
We tapped our flutes together. “No worries. My aspirations are simple. If I can save Battersea Bluffs, I’ll die a happy woman.”
“You’ll succeed.” He finished his first glass and then poured himself another.
“By the way, thanks for buying the painting. You didn’t have to, you know?”
“It wasn’t a charity buy. Truthfully, it’s one of the best depictions of Whale Rock Harbor I’ve seen.”
“Quite the compliment.” I set my half-empty glass down and turned to look at him. “Lu said something about having them delivered, as in plural. I thought you only bought one.”
Brooks turned his eyes up toward the sky. “You must have misunderstood.”
I didn’t think that was the case, but Lu would tell me tomorrow.
As Brooks continued his stargazing, I couldn’t help but admire his handsome profile. He was a very appealing man. What had happened between him and Zoe all those years ago? I was about to make another attempt at uncovering the answer to the mystery when Brooks downed his second glass of champagne, set it on the table, and made his move.
I was in such a state of shock I was unable to react, other than giving in to his kiss. Or at least that was the excuse I made to myself later to assuage the guilt.
My senses returned and I gently extracted myself from the passionate embrace.
“Aw, Chuckles.” I placed my hands affectionately on his cheeks. “I’m not Zoe. Not in any way.”
“I know damn well who you are.” His voice was hoarse, and he turned his head away, leaving my hands to drop heavily into my lap.
After sitting in lamentable silence for what seemed like hours, I summoned the nerve to speak. “I have always had the deepest affection for you, Brooks.”
“Please don’t patronize me.” He was no longer turned away, but his eyes were closed.
“I’m not. But please let me tell you how I’m feeling about this … complication, for lack of a better word.”
“ ‘Complication’? Not a better word.”
“Will you just listen to me for one minute?” I took in a deep breath to calm my frustration. “I can’t imagine not having you in my life, okay? You are that important to me. You’re one of my closest friends. So as much as I wanted the same thing you wanted a short while ago—and believe me, I did—it was an in-the-moment emotion. And you can trust that I know how dangerous those types of impetuous actions can be. If you’ll recall, it’s how I ruined my marriage.”
“You and Ethan were on the path of destruction long before Billy Hughes made his encore performance.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“So what exactly is your point?” His words echoed off the water.
I tried to take his hand, but he wouldn’t let me. “You are far too special to me. I could never consider getting involved if there was a risk of losing you. I think you’ll agree I have a talent for screwing up relationships.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“At least we’re in agreement on something.” My stab at humor was wasted. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never shared with anyone. Not even Brit.”
“You should have maintained that strategy.” A definite dig for Brit’s blabbing about Billy, but the tone more conciliatory.
“I had the biggest crush on you when I was a kid. But you were so in love with Zoe, you hardly knew I existed. I spent half my days fantasizing of ways to get rid of her so I could win you over for myself.” I laughed softly. “But that’s the point.”
“What is?”
“Zoe. She was, is, and always will be the most obvious of obstacles. Don’t you see? We would never be able to escape the shadow of her memory.”
He rubbed his hands over his face and up through his hair. “Damn the ghost of Zoe Mitchell. Will she never stop haunting me?”
* * *
It was half past one when I finally left Brooks to his brooding. I’d said all I could to placate his bruised ego, and only hoped our friendship would remain unscathed after one unfortunately timed attempt at romance. It would have been far worse if we’d abandoned good sense and awakened in the morning with regrets.
I was still fretting about it when I pulled the Miata up to the house, but worries over Brooks quickly vanished when the orange glow of a burning cigarette tip caught my notice. My pulse raced—who was on my porch at almost two in the morning? The mystery stalker? I quickly reversed the car to aim the headlights at the smoker and was both relieved and confused to see sitting there on my porch a scruffily clad woman and her signature Uggs.
“I heard you was asking about me.” Cindy crushed her cigarette butt into the gravel driveway as I let Whistler out to do his thing. When the dog was finished, he ran back for a proper greeting. “Hey there, old fella.”
“He remembers you fondly,” I observed.
“I used to give him the table scraps. You know, eggs and bacon left over from breakfasts. I reckon it don’t matter if Evelyn finds out. She can’t very well fire me now.” Cindy cackled at her own joke.
I noticed she was shivering. The wind had kicked up, and there was the smell of frost in the air.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll light a fire and put on a kettle for tea. Are you hungry?” I had many questions for this woman, and it was prudent to keep her comfortable.
“I could go for one of those cookies,” she said when we walked into the kitchen.
“Cookies?”
Cindy inhaled deeply. “Smells like somethin’ just came from the oven.”
I could do nothing but stare at her for a moment, disbelieving this woman had the perceptive power to pick up on Percy and Celeste. I subtly sniffed the air myself, and yes, they were clearly making their presence known.
I retrieved a tinned coffee cake from the pantry. It would have to do.
“How did you get here?” I asked, setting plates on the table.
“Hitched.” I must have looked startled, for she added, “With a friend of mine. I never get into a car with strangers no more. Ever since those two kids went missin’, my policy is to only go
with people I know.”
Cindy must indeed have been hungry, because by the time the tea was ready, she’d already eaten two large pieces of coffee cake. “Homemade is always the best.”
If only she knew.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I sat in the chair across the table from her, “why did you leave Hilliard House?”
She gave a wave of her hand. “Aw, you know how Evelyn is.”
I did, but that surely couldn’t have been the only reason to leave a decent paying job in this economy.
“But you didn’t even give them notice or a forwarding address for your last paycheck. They thought you’d left town altogether.”
“Yeah. Well.” She shrugged and offered nothing more.
“Did you find another job?”
“Nah. I’m thinkin’ of retirin’.”
“Not that it’s any of my business, but can you afford not to work?”
Cindy took on the look of a trapped animal.
“I only want to make sure you’re alright.”
“Tha’s okay.” Again the wave. “I came into some money, so I’m doin’ just fine.”
Sudden wealth didn’t exactly fit with her tattered appearance or the lack of an automobile or even a jacket. Still, I wouldn’t pursue it further for fear of alienating her.
“So what was it you wanted to see me ’bout?” She blew the steam away from the top of her teacup.
I went to my desk and pulled from the drawer the file of bird mascots. “Do you remember telling me about the shirt with the angry red bird on it? The one you found in Vince and Ashley’s room?”
Her face clouded. “You bringin’ that up again?”
“Only as a means of helping to find them.”
“I don’t see how it’ll help.” She cut a third slice of cake.
“Look. My reason for asking about the shirt is to see if I can track down where they came from. Maybe someone in their hometown or where they went to school might have information about them. But until we know where they’re from …?” I lifted my hands. “It’s a big country.”
Cindy snickered. “Sometimes not big enough.”
I would love to know her story, no doubt a colorful one, but I had to keep my focus. “So, will you help me?”
She pushed her plate aside and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “A’right. Lemme see what you’ve got.”
I opened the file and began to flip through the pictures of college mascots Brooks had assembled. “When something looks familiar to you, just let me know.”
She made a job of inspecting each drawing or photograph, squinting and holding the pages close.
“That’s not it. Nuh-uh. Neither is this one.” She placed the rejects facedown while puzzling over others. I was losing hope as she neared the end, but finally she punched an image with her index finger. “This is the one. This one right here.”
My pulse quickened as we moved one step closer to figuring out where Vince and Ashley came from. But I also had to smile now that I understood why Cindy thought it had been a Jewish school. It was Temple University’s mascot.
“You’re certain?”
“Hundred percent.” She handed me the sheet of paper. “What are ya gonna do with this?”
“ ‘Now there’s the rub.’ ” The quote from Hamlet appeared lost on Cindy, who responded with a vacant stare.
I looked at Temple’s red owl mascot while considering my two alternative paths for this new information, neither of which was particularly appealing at the moment. Should I give Brooks a day or two to cool down? On the other hand, could I trust Daniel to act on it? And almost as important, did I trust myself to keep an emotional distance from him?
“What to do, what to do?” I said under my breath.
“ ‘That is the question!’ ” Cindy beamed her crooked-toothed smile, making me speculate whether dumb was just an act for her.
25
The next morning
“Come on, Brooks. Pick up.” It was the third time I’d tried to reach him, but he wasn’t answering. Another call came in, so I didn’t leave a message this time.
“Good morning, Lu.” I was curled up on the bay window seat, sipping my coffee as I looked out at the rough waters of the Cape.
“It’s not too early, is it?” she asked.
Under normal circumstances it would have been, but I hadn’t even made it to bed yet. It had been very late—or early—when I’d returned from dropping Cindy at the Orleans Stop&Shop. She wouldn’t let me take her to wherever she was living these days.
“I was too keyed up to sleep.” I stifled a yawn.
“Are you sitting down? Because this is really big, Cassie.”
“I’m listening.”
“After you left, I was waiting for the caterers to finish, and a gentleman walked into the gallery. I’d seen him earlier at the exhibit, but he disappeared before I had a chance to introduce myself.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was wearing a navy blazer and khakis, no tie.”
I had to laugh.
“I know,” she chuckled along with me. “The standard uniform of male Cape Codders over thirty.”
“Which covers most of the men who were there last night,” I added.
“Except perhaps for that adorable group of young people.”
“Teddy and his pals.”
“The blondish, tall, good-looking kid? Funky jacket?”
“Yes, that’s Teddy.”
“Getting back to this other guy—he was a lean, distinguished, pleasant-looking man with salt and pepper hair, mostly pepper.”
“Dimpled chin?”
“That’s him. He came back asking for another look. I’d already affixed sold stickers on the paintings purchased last night and also put out a few ‘Sale Pending’ signs, wanting to set aside the works being eyed by the usual buyers. It’s not good to whip up an interest and then not have the final product available for them to purchase.”
“But?”
“But I had a feeling this man was a serious buyer, and my instincts proved correct.” She stopped for a breath, but her eagerness was contagious.
“So? What happened?”
“After I walked him through the exhibit, he said—and I quote—‘I’d like to purchase the balance of the collection.’ Can you believe it? The balance of the collection.”
I couldn’t. Everything had sold?
“A solid offer, higher than the asking prices totaled, I might add. All sold!”
“How much?”
“Hold on to your hat.” She named a figure, and I made some quick calculations in my head. “But Lu, that’s way over the value you placed on the entire collection.”
“True,” Lu agreed. “But you have to remember, it’s a significant collection that you’ve been assembling for a number of years. Perhaps I underestimated the worth your talent would draw.”
My heart had been doing cartwheels of joy until the center of all my emotions took control and my stomach began churning with apprehension. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark, to borrow yet another quote from my old pal Hamlet. There was no logic in someone offering such a significantly higher price than asking.
“No,” I said, rather emphatically.
“Yes, it’s true.” She had misunderstood.
“I mean I won’t sell to him, Lu.”
An involuntary squeak of anguish came through the earpiece. “Are you crazy?”
“Quite possibly.” But I had to know the truth behind this unbelievable sale. “Are my paintings still at the gallery?”
“Yes, of course. A purchase this large requires special arrangements. A buyer doesn’t simply walk out with the paintings. Each has to be specially packed for shipment.”
“Shipped to where?”
“Mr. Bernard, Michael—that’s the buyer—hasn’t given me all the details yet. I’m meeting him this morning to finalize the sale. He’s having a cashier’s check drawn.”
“T
ell him I will sell my collection to him on one condition. I want to meet him first.”
Lu was quiet for a moment, probably to form a composed response. “I just want you to understand, such a proviso could very well jeopardize the sale.”
“Don’t you find it odd for this stranger to materialize in our midst and fall in love with a debut artist’s work, so much so that he buys everything and offers more than they’re worth?”
“Extremely odd. But the art world is chock full of eccentrics. Who are we to question their whims? Especially if they can afford to indulge them.”
“Is there anything in our contract forbidding me from making this condition?”
“No. Just common sense, which apparently is in short supply today.”
“I have a sense, all right. The sense of a mystery lurking within this collector’s motives.”
“And again I say, so what? You need the money. Why question the buyer’s intentions?”
“Humor me.”
Lu blew out a defeated sigh. “I’ll do my best. What should I do if he refuses?”
“Why would someone who is so keen to buy up all my completed works not be thrilled for the opportunity to meet me in person?”
“I hate to admit it, but there you have a point.”
“What time is the meeting? Shall I be at the gallery early or would it be better to keep the buyer waiting?”
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll suggest he might also want to see some of your works in progress. That way I can bring him to you.”
“I like the way you think.”
“What? Like the captain who doesn’t want to go down with her sinking ship?”
I pushed aside the guilt of putting the screws to all Lu’s hard work.
“And one more thing, do you think you might spring my little stipulation on this Mr. Bernard after you’ve determined the shipping destination?”
“When did you develop such a devious mind?” she asked, and when not answered, “Oh, all right. The agent always seems to get the dirty work.”
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