“With the poisonings and Eric's death?”
“So he said, and he sounded reasonable, but I got to thinking about it, and that doesn't make any sense. If that's what's on his mind, he would have been way more concerned about the break-in, but he acted almost nonchalant. I don't know what to think. He took Skippy and Tucker to the park, so I thought I'd give you a call while he was out.”
“I'm afraid I'm stumped. Is there something else that could be worrying him?”
“If there is, he hasn't mentioned it to me. He just doesn't seem like himself. It's a little weird.”
Although I could understand her point, I didn't really have any sage advice to offer. “I wish I knew what to tell you.”
“That's OK. I just needed to talk to someone who doesn't think I'm imagining things.”
“You're not imagining things,” I assured her.
“Maybe he'll open up later. I probably shouldn't push him.”
“That might be the best idea,” I agreed. “You mentioned there was something else.”
“Oh, right. I was thinking about the painting I was going to keep as a memento but then it wasn't there. What if someone stole that, too? I think a lot of people knew where that key was stashed.”
“Evidently. But why that particular picture? It doesn't seem like an item that would attract a thief.”
“Yes, I guess that's true, but I think it was an antique, too, because it was in the house when Natalie inherited it.”
“Antique paintings aren't necessarily valuable, though. Age alone doesn't determine desirability in the art world. It really depends on the reputation of the painter and the condition of the work. Unless a well-known artist painted it, it's probably not worth too much.”
“I guess you're right. From what I remember Natalie telling me, some local guy painted it and gave it to Natalie's great-grandparents way back in the day. I was thinking about going back to the house and looking for it in the attic, but I guess I won't bother. I mentioned that I couldn't find it to Josh, and he shrugged it off. He didn't even remember the painting, but he said I was welcome to search the attic if I wanted to. I told him I'd let him know, but, now that I've talked to you, I think I'll drop it. I don't especially feel like rummaging around in a dusty attic.”
“I imagine the auction house will remove anything from the attic, too. You could always check to see if the painting ends up in the auction, if you really want it.”
“It's not that I want it so much. It's that I think someone may have walked off with it, and, if it was valuable, the proceeds from selling it should go to Eric's estate. That's why I thought I should tell Josh, but he wasn't interested.”
“If the estate's so deeply in debt, maybe he figures he wouldn't get any of the money, anyway.”
“That's true enough. Eric didn't do him any favor when he named Josh executor. It's already been a lot of work for Josh, and it's not over yet. His only hope of getting anything from the estate would be that lawsuit and, so far, he hasn't found an attorney in Phoenix who's willing to take the case. It would have to be on contingency, of course.”
“Right. Otherwise, Josh would have to pay the lawyer's fee up front.”
“And he can't afford. . . .” Rebecca stopped talking mid-sentence. “Oops, I better go now. I hear Greg and the pups coming in. Have a safe trip tomorrow and have fun with your daughter in Scottsdale.”
Chapter 37
The next morning, when the raucous blast of my alarm clock woke me, I felt a knot in my stomach, probably due to a combination of the early hour and my excitement at the prospect of Emma's arrival. Mona Lisa opened her eyes and closed them again as soon as I shut off the alarm. She didn't make a move to get out of bed. Laddie, on the other hand, was raring to go, almost as if he sensed he'd be spending the day with his little buddy.
The first thing I did was check on Emma's flight to confirm that it wouldn't be delayed. It was scheduled to depart on time, but the flight, from Los Angeles to Phoenix, would take less time than the drive from Lonesome Valley to the Sky Harbor Airport, so I'd have to leave before I knew for sure that Emma's flight was in the air.
I rushed through my morning routine and dropped Laddie off with Dennis before I got on the road. It was still dark outside. The sun wouldn't be up for an hour and a half, and it felt slightly spooky since I was the only customer at the pumps after I pulled into the deserted gas station on the outskirts of town to fill up. I tapped my credit card on the reader next to the gas pump, but nothing happened. After a couple more unsuccessful tries, I had to go inside the station to pay. I wondered whether I'd miscalculated and gone over my credit card limit, especially when the clerk had a problem with the card, too. Just when I was about to offer cash instead, he finally succeeded in running the transaction.
“Sorry about that,” he said, as he handed my card back. “You're good to go.”
“Thanks,” I said, as I hurried out the door. The stop for gas was taking a little longer than I'd anticipated, but I'd still be at the airport by the time Emma's flight landed. While I waited for the tank to fill, I checked my phone for the flight status and felt happy that it hadn't changed.
Finally, I was on my way. Traffic was light on the highway that led to Interstate 17, but the traffic increased as I drove through central Phoenix, jumped onto Interstate 10, and exited at the airport. I found a parking spot in one of the cell phone lots. I checked the information display for Emma's flight and found that my timing had been perfect. Her flight had just arrived.
It wasn't long before Emma called me, and I proceeded to the crowded curb area to pick her up. She wore a backpack over a light jacket, jeans, and sneakers, and her dark, wavy hair was shorter than it had been in the summer. With all the traffic around us, I didn't dare get out of the car. I popped the back door so she could stow her suitcase before she eased into the passenger seat beside me. We managed a quick hug before the driver behind me started honking, so I pulled out of my curbside spot, and we were soon on our way to Scottsdale.
“Hungry?” I asked as we drove north.
“Starving. I had some juice on the plane, but that's it.”
“I only had a piece of toast when I got up, so I'm ready for a nice brunch this morning. My friends at the Roadrunner suggested a couple of restaurants in Old Town Scottsdale; that's right where the galleries are. Oh, and the boutiques, too.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We stopped at the first place on my list and enjoyed a leisurely brunch while Emma told me about her finals.
“When are Grandma and Gramps going to get here?” she asked.
“Monday, and Dustin's flying in then, too. They've coordinated their arrivals, so that they arrive about the same time. Dustin reserved a rental car, so they can all drive to Lonesome Valley together.”
“I can't wait to see them,” she said. “This is going to be a way better Christmas than last year.”
“I know. Last year was sad for all of us. I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault, Mom,” Emma said. “Dad's the one to blame. When I visited him at Thanksgiving, I felt like a stranger in our house.”
“And I don't even have a bedroom for you,” I lamented.
“Oh, I didn't mean that. I like your house. It's cute and comfy.”
“Are you sure you don't mind sleeping on the hide-a-bed?”
“Not at all.” Emma sighed. “I know I have to get used to the new normal, but I'm not there yet.”
“Well, give it time. I know that sounds terribly trite, but I don't know what else to say.”
“Yeah, I know. It just gets to me sometimes.”
“Would another cinnamon roll help?” I asked, as I slid the basket of pastries toward my daughter.
“It wouldn't hurt,” Emma said with a grin, as she helped herself.
Happy that her mood had brightened, I showed her the map of Old Town Scottsdale and pointed out some of the galleries and boutiques that we might visit.
I drank a second cup
of coffee while Emma finished her roll, and then we headed toward the shops. Emma bought some earrings and a cute top, and I bought her a pair of boots, which, luckily for my pocketbook, had been marked down considerably.
After spending a couple hours shopping, we headed to the art galleries on East Main Street. I enjoyed seeing the variety of artworks as we browsed through several galleries before we came to the first one that I'd flagged as a potential venue for my own artwork. As soon as we entered, I knew that my paintings would fit right in, but after the gallery's owner approached us and kept up a very aggressive patter of sales talk the entire time we were there, I decided the place wasn't for me.
Once we left, Emma said, “Talk about obnoxious.”
“I agree. I wouldn't want to be represented by that gallery. Let's try the next.”
The second gallery on my list of possibilities didn't appeal to me, either, although, again, I thought my artwork would have been a good fit. This time, we were totally ignored by the gallery's staff, so I scratched that one off my list, too.
“This might be harder than I thought,” I told Emma when we were outside on the sidewalk. “Everybody in all the galleries has been great, except the last two, not so much.” Consulting my list, I said, “It looks like the next one is about a block from here, around the corner.”
The minute we walked in, I had a good feeling. The place was airy and full of light, and the sales staff were friendly but not obtrusive.
“I think I'll apply to this one,” I whispered to Emma as we browsed the paintings.
“You totally should,” Emma agreed.
I took one of my brochures out of my bag to show Emma which paintings I planned to submit images of with my application to the gallery, but it slipped from my hand and fluttered to the floor. Before I could retrieve it, a bearded young man wearing a sports coat scooped it up. I thought he was about to hand it back to me before he glanced at it, but then he stopped to look it over.
“Are you Amanda Trent?” he asked.
My name, but not my photo, appeared on the front of the brochure.
“Yes, I am.”
“May I?” he asked, unfolding it to look inside.
“Of course.”
After he'd studied the brochure for a few minutes, he gave it back to me and stuck out his hand while introducing himself as Ian Adams. I recognized his name immediately since the gallery bore the same name. After I introduced him to Emma, he shook hands with her, too, before turning to me.
“I noticed you're represented by the Crystal Star Gallery in Kansas City. I'm familiar with it. Are you looking for representation here in Scottsdale?”
“I am, as a matter of fact. I'm planning to fill out your application form.”
“That's fine, and I'll keep it on file, but, from the images I've seen in your brochure, I believe that I may be able to take you on as a featured artist. I'd need to see your original work first, of course. Would tomorrow be convenient?”
“I could arrange that if I could come by in the morning. I live in Lonesome Valley, so it's a two-hour drive, and I have a studio tour in the evening.”
“How about ten o'clock, right when we open?”
“That would be fine.”
“If you'd bring ten representative works, I'd appreciate it.”
“Yes, I will,” I said, and we exchanged business cards. I managed to contain my excitement, but it wasn't easy!
Finally, after Emma and I left the gallery and crossed the street, we hugged each other, and I let out a whoop of joy.
“I think I'm looking at the newest featured artist at the Ian Adams Gallery,” Emma said. “Way to go, Mom!”
Chapter 38
Passersby gave us some sidelong glances, since I was practically jumping up and down with joy until a warning thought crossed my mind. Perhaps I shouldn't get too excited yet. Melinda's cancellation of my big sale to her had happened only a few days earlier. Even though Ian Adams had expressed interest in my paintings, there was no guarantee that he'd decide to take me on as a featured artist in his gallery.
Emma noticed right away that I'd quieted down. “What's wrong, Mom?”
“What if Ian decides he doesn't want to show my paintings?”
“What if he does? Come on, Mom. Get a grip. He wouldn't have asked you to bring them if he wasn't really interested.”
“I suppose so.”
“Don't worry. He's going to sign you up. I just know it.”
“I hope so. I'd love to be represented by a gallery here in Scottsdale, and Ian's seems perfect for my artwork.”
We stopped at a couple more galleries on the way back to the car, but nothing I saw in either of them registered with me. I was too busy thinking about tomorrow's trip back to Scottsdale and hoping it would end with an agreement to exhibit my paintings in Ian's gallery.
“Would you like to stop someplace on the way home for a late lunch?” I asked Emma when we reached the car.
“Let's go back to Lonesome Valley and have an early dinner at home,” Emma suggested. “I can't wait to see Mona Lisa and Laddie.”
We went straight to Belle's to pick up Laddie as soon as we got back to Lonesome Valley. My golden boy pranced with excitement at seeing Emma, and he ran back and forth, from me to Emma and back again with Mr. Big trailing behind and barking all the way.
An equally warm reception from Mona Lisa awaited Emma at home. My little calico cat wasted no time in snuggling up to my daughter. She meowed loudly and wrapped herself around her ankles the second we entered the house. She refused to quiet down until Emma picked her up for a cuddle, and she protested loudly when she put her back down.
Emma sat on the sofa and called Mona Lisa to her. My kitty settled in her lap, purring happily.
“Looks as though she missed you,” I commented.
“For sure, and I missed her, too, didn't I, Mona Lisa?”
Mona Lisa purred more loudly, as if to agree with Emma.
“I think I'm trapped for a while.”
“You just relax. I'm going to put your suitcase in the bedroom, and you can unpack later. The closet's a bit crowded, but there's enough room to hang your clothes, and I've left the dresser drawers that you used last summer empty, so you can put anything that doesn't need to be hung up in those.”
“Great. I'll unpack in a little while. Mona Lisa can help, can't you, baby?”
“Purr” came the answer.
I'd made plenty of food for my dinner with Belle and Dennis the previous evening so that I'd have enough left over for Emma and me. I warmed everything in the oven while Emma played with Mona Lisa and petted Laddie, drawing a protest from Mona Lisa, who batted her arm every time she stroked Laddie's soft fur.
After dinner, we both proclaimed that we felt stuffed following our big brunch and substantial dinner, so we opted to skip dessert and save our chocolate meringue pie for later.
Emma had arranged to ride with Dennis to work the next day, and Belle had volunteered to watch Laddie again while I made another trip to Scottsdale, so, with our arrangements made, I headed to the studio to select the paintings to show Ian Adams the next day. While I hadn't expected to be making a second trip to Scottsdale, I was happy to do it, given the possibility that I might obtain representation at Ian's gallery.
The walls in my studio looked a bit empty when I'd finished removing the paintings I'd chosen to take with me. Emma helped me rearrange the remaining paintings, making sure there was more space between them. When we were done, the studio looked just fine, and the extra space between the paintings made each artwork stand out.
“Shall we load these into the car tonight or in the morning?” Emma asked.
“Let's do it in the morning. I won't have a real garage for a while.”
“OK,” Emma said with a yawn.
We'd both gotten up early, so we decided to call it a night. We pulled out the hide-a-bed and arranged the bedding. Mona Lisa jumped up on it, to spend the night with Emma, so I brought out her favorite
pillow from my bed. She immediately curled up on it. Laddie didn't mind his feline companion's fickleness in abandoning us in favor of Emma, now that he could have me to himself.
I was so excited at the prospect of showing my artwork at Ian's gallery that I thought I might not be able to sleep, but that didn't prove to be the case, and I dropped off to the sound of Laddie's soft, rhythmic breathing a few minutes after I crawled into bed.
In the morning, after a quick breakfast, Emma and I loaded the paintings into the back of my SUV. There was no time to take Laddie for a walk, but I knew he'd have fun with Mr. Big, and, if I got home in time, we could go for a stroll in the afternoon. We all departed about the same time, with Dennis and Emma headed to work at the feed store while Belle, still dressed in her robe, stood in her doorway, holding Mr. Big, with Laddie by her side, and waved goodbye to us.
On the way to Scottsdale, the miles seemed to go by faster than they had yesterday, perhaps because I was listening to an audiobook about art marketing. When I arrived in Scottsdale, I found a parking spot around the corner from the Ian Adams Gallery. I was just a few minutes early, so the gallery would be opening soon. There was no way I could carry ten oil paintings, so I grabbed two that weren't bulky and walked around the corner to the gallery. Ian himself was unlocking the door when I arrived, and he sent a clerk with a dolly back to my car to collect the other paintings I'd brought to show him. He looked each of them over very carefully, but his bland expression never changed, and I didn't have a clue about what he was thinking. In fact, I was beginning to feel nervous about his lack of reaction, but then he turned to me and spoke for the first time since the clerk had returned with my paintings.
“Welcome to my gallery!”
The rest of our conversation was a blur. By the time I departed, leaving all ten paintings with Ian, I realized we'd discussed pricing and our agreement as well as other business details and even the future possibility of a solo show. I couldn't have been happier. Even though the commission the gallery would earn on a sale was steeper than at the Roadrunner, it was worth it for the exposure of my work in a gallery right in the heart of Old Town Scottsdale's art district.
Hemlock for the Holidays Page 17